


The Tell-All

by swankyturnip76



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Confessions, Dating, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned loss of a pet (Hedwig), Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, PTSD mentioned, Pining, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Rating may go up, Recovery, Rimming, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Social Anxiety, Supportive Ginny Weasley, ginny and harry never married, i'm really proud of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 91,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swankyturnip76/pseuds/swankyturnip76
Summary: A few years after the war, Harry is still recovering. With encouragement from his friends, he decides to write a tell-all book to give his unhinged version of everything that happened.Draco Malfoy is completing his community service hours in Germany, working on a potion to cure memory loss and help people with dementia, when the tell-all is released.Everything escalates from there.





	1. Road to Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to indigowallbreaker on tumblr and beckily on tumblr for beta reading this fic as I write it. With your help, this fic becomes more and more brilliant and breathtaking and I adore you both for it.  
> I know that this concept has probably been done before but I wanted to give my own take on it. I hadn't read anything like it before so I hope that I'm bringing something kind of new to the table.  
> I'm honestly very proud of this fic so far. I've been working extremely hard on it and have been doing a lot of research to make things as accurate as possible. I really hope that you all enjoy it as it progresses. You might think the start is shaky but it gets phenomenal later on.
> 
> Enjoy the journey.

Harry Potter didn’t need the money.

Of course, that wasn’t what the papers said. They claimed that he had fallen on ‘hard times’ since the war and the only reason he was publishing a tell-all was to make back some of that grand Potter Fortune he had lost over the years.

It was utter garbage.

His friends knew the truth and promoted it on a grand scale – Harry figured Hermione took secret pleasure in having an excuse to bash Rita Skeeter publicly. The truth was that therapists, Hogwarts teachers, friends, and even the Weasleys had suggested he share his experiences with the world. “It will give you closure,” many of them said.

Two years after the war, Harry gave in and started the rough draft.

It wasn’t an easy process. He knew going into it that reliving a lot of the painful moments would cause his depression to worsen and his PTSD to flare up at night. But through it all, he had his friends there to comfort and encourage him.

Seven months after he had started writing, the tell-all was ready for publication.

He wasn’t in the country when the book hit the shelves.

Instead, he had traveled to Romania to help Charlie with his dragons while he waited for the dust to settle. He knew that if he stayed in the country, he would be hassled by press wishing to interview him about the book. So instead he dropped off the face of the earth, with only Hermione and Ron knowing his true whereabouts. He received owls from them at least once or twice a week telling him how popular the book was, how the majority of feedback was positive, and how they were all doing. Hermione and Ron had been written about extensively in his book and while they had given their heartfelt consent beforehand, Ron couldn’t help but send a letter after publication that jokingly accused Harry of ‘stealing all his best moments’. Harry wrote him back with a lewd drawing of a misshapen dick.

During his stay with Charlie, Harry found an easy routine. He would get up, check for post, tend to the needs of the dragons for a few hours, eat lunch either with Charlie or one of Charlie’s teammates, go for a hike around the grounds, tend to the dragons some more, have dinner, and then retire to his tent. It was relaxing and freeing. Sometimes he pondered whether or not he should return to England. Charlie was welcoming and very appreciative of Harry’s ability to learn quickly and devote himself to his work. On more than one occasion, when Charlie suspected Harry was getting antsy, the elder Weasley would put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and tell him, “There’s no rush. Take your time.”

Harry could have married him in those moments.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t hide out forever. He knew that with the tell-all’s publication, he would eventually have to do at least one interview back home to cover any questions people might have. Hermione and Luna had proofread the tell-all before it was published and had both informed him that they knew people would recognize his honesty and appreciate his humility. However, Harry knew that there would be one or two follow-up questions from the _Prophet_ or the _Quibbler_ regardless.

So, he left Charlie and his beloved dragons, and traveled to the Burrow.

Everyone was immensely happy to see him. Molly had to be pried away from him by George and Ginny. Ron offered to apparate them to some desert to get away from the madness but Harry found solace in being surrounded by his family. Over dinner, he updated them on how Charlie was doing and listened to Ginny brag excitedly about her latest Quidditch victory and George talk about success at the shop. He wanted to relax completely but Hermione’s relative silence reminded him that the inevitable was coming. Thankfully, she had the tact to wait until they were standing out among the gardens alone to approach him about it.

“Have you thought about who you want to interview with?”

“I guess Luna’s out of the question,” Harry sighed.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile. “She won’t ask what the people want to know – only the odd questions about creatures or weird circumstances.”

“Dennis Creevey?”

“Took a sabbatical.”

“Kingsley?”

“Too biased as Minister of Magic.”

“Can’t we have one of the Hogwarts professors do it and have the _Prophet_ record it or something?” Hermione gave him her signature Look and he ran a hand through his hair. “I know _why_ I need to do an interview but isn’t everything straightforward in the book?”

“It is but people want to see _you_. They want to know that you truly wrote it and back up everything in it.”

“Are we sure Dennis can’t come back?”

Hermione pulled him in for a hug.

**XXXX**

They settled on Abigail Flounder, a classmate of Ginny’s who hadn’t been at Hogwarts for Harry’s seventh year because her mother had been dying of illness. Abigail was sympathetic, compassionate, understanding, and wouldn’t pressure Harry to answer anything he didn’t want to. Ginny vouched for her and confirmed that her reporting style was all factual and unbiased. They had gone back and forth on location for the interview – Harry had wanted something familiar like the Burrow or Hogwarts, but Hermione and Ron warned him against somewhere that might get mauled by reporters in the future. McGonagall had enough to deal with at Hogwarts without added press attention. It took a while but eventually they agreed on a park with a lake about an hour away from the Burrow. It was open and wide but hardly any Muggles journeyed there because it was so far away from any town. Abigail conjured up a pair of benches and comfortably sat down across from Harry. A camera recorded their faces while Abigail’s quill took down the conversation.

It lasted less than an hour. Abigail, true to her reputation, was patient, understanding, and never tried to guilt-trip Harry into answering something he wasn’t comfortable with. Mostly she was there just to confirm the suspicions of the masses – that Harry really _did_ write the book, that he didn’t have a ghostwriter, that the book showed his truth, and that he wasn’t in it for any kind of fame or fortune.

One of her last questions was, “How do you think those mentioned in the book will respond to your experiences?”

Harry was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. “Neville, and the Weasleys read an advanced copy before it hit the shelves. Hermione and Luna proofread it for me. Of course, all of them largely knew how and what I was feeling as I experienced it over the past few years. I still wanted to clear it with them, though. Especially since they were the ones encouraging me to write this and find closure. They’ve all been very supportive before, during, and after its publication.”

“And what about those that you haven’t talked to about the book?” Harry bit his lip and Abigail continued, “Many of the families of those who lost loved ones in that final battle have come forward thanking you for acknowledging their beloved’s sacrifice. Others are…hurt, I think, from the loss that still feels so fresh to them. In the book, you note how those that have been lost to us will never truly be gone. What do you say to those families that are still healing?”

“The pain will never go away,” Harry replied after a moment. “I still harbor so much anger and pain and frustration for a lot of what happened. I can’t visit Diagon Alley without thinking of Fred. I haven’t been able to return to Hogwarts since the funerals, I…” he trailed off and swallowed uncomfortably. After chewing his lip for a minute, he continued a little shakily, “The pain doesn’t go away. And there’s a lot that still needs to happen. But I hope that solace can eventually be found for both the living and the deceased.”

Abigail smiled at him. It wasn’t conniving like Rita Skeeter’s grin or ugly like Umbridge’s. It was genuine. Understanding. Comforting.

“A lot of people, especially those connected with the Ministry or Hogwarts, are a bit displeased with your view of some of the accused Death Eaters.”

“You’re talking about Malfoy.”

Abigail nodded. “Along with Draco Malfoy’s parents, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson among others.”

“We were children fighting a war we wondered if we could win,” Harry said after a moment. He had had this same conversation with himself a million times before. “As I’ve said in the book, I understand why a lot of them did what they did in certain situations. While I don’t condone a lot of what’s happened, I think in those last two years, before the final battle, everyone was being pulled to action. A climax was coming and I think everyone just wanted to make it through alive.”

“You spoke at some of their trials.”

“I did.”

“As a reminder to our readers, you spoke in defense of Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Gregory Goyle particularly at their trials.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban. Even after…” Harry trailed off and took a breath. “Azkaban is for people like Bellatrix Lestrange, were she alive. It’s a place for the irredeemable.”

“You believe they deserve a second chance.”

Harry looked up into her eyes and nodded firmly. “I do.”

Abigail smiled again. “Thank you, Harry. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to relive a lot of those memories. We really appreciate you coming forward with your take on the events and hope that you, too, can find solace in your future.”

They exchanged pleasantries as Abigail packed up her equipment and wand. She shook Harry’s hand warmly before disappearing. Once she was gone, Harry sat there on the bench and didn’t move, even as he saw Ron and Hermione approaching from his peripheral vision.

He didn’t move to wipe away the tears.

**XXXX**

Draco Malfoy was in Germany performing his community service hours when Potter’s tell-all book was published. He was sure that copies had already been pre-ordered. Not wanting to associate himself with whatever Potter had to say, Draco didn’t add his name to any list. Instead, he focused his attention on his research. He was to publish his own findings soon enough – though, they would have nothing to do with his past. For Draco, it was about moving forward and restoring his family’s name. He didn’t need to read whatever nonsense Potter wrote to achieve _closure_.

It was a rainy Tuesday morning a few months after Potter’s book had been released when the package came. Of course his mother of all people had sent him a copy with a note that simply said, “Read the entire thing.”

Draco hadn’t read it. He had tucked it away with his mother’s note in a drawer across the room and resumed his research. But as the hours ticked away, he found himself glancing more and more at the dresser. Surely whatever Potter had to say would upset him. And Draco didn’t need the distraction. He was so _close_ to perfecting this potion. He had spent months working on it. He couldn’t afford to waste time reading Potter’s _nonsense_.

Draco sighed heavily, letting his hair down from its tie and running his fingers through it. His locks had grown to shoulder-length. He knew he needed to cut it soon and keep it neat, lest the _Prophet_ mistake him for his father. But having been sentenced to a minimal use of magic, Draco figured he would just ask his mother to cut it for him upon his return.

He just needed to complete his research first.

Draco stood from his desk and walked over to the dresser, letting his hand rest on the wood. He glared down at the dresser as if his icy stare could burn the whole thing and its contents. He knew the Aurors assigned to monitor him would probably frown upon him getting distracted from his task.

“Half an hour. I’ll read for half an hour and if it turns out to be utter garbage, I’ll trash it and go back to work.”

The empty room didn’t answer him. The Aurors watching from across the field outside didn't answer. Making up his mind, Draco yanked open the drawer and reached in, giving his mother’s note a quick glance before pulling out the book.

_Read the entire thing._

“Waste of time,” Draco replied aloud to his mother’s note but he opened up to the dedications page nonetheless.

_Dedicated to the memory of those lost. May they never be forgotten._

Suddenly he felt something lurch in his stomach. Surely Potter only meant those he had _liked_ that had died. Somehow Draco didn’t think Potter had had Crabbe in mind when he wrote this dedication.

Drawing a breath, Draco moved to his bed and sat down, turning to the first page of text.

_Half an hour. That's all I will read for._

**XXXX**

When his clock chimed midnight almost seven hours after he had started reading, Draco was still in his bed, holding the book in his hands, and staring at the pages. He had read the book twice to make sure he hadn’t read anything wrong or missed something.

As the clock finished its final chime, Draco glanced out the window. The Aurors were either bored of watching him or had gone to bed - they hadn't disturbed him for taking a break. He looked back to the research on his desk that had been left untouched. He swallowed and cleared his throat a few times but he couldn’t make himself return to his work. Potter’s words continued through his mind as if on a loop.

A tapping on his window startled him.

Finding the willpower, Draco stood from the bed on slightly-shaky legs and opened the window to let his mother’s owl in. The gentle bird held a copy of the _Prophet_ that had been enchanted to show both the audio and video of Potter’s interview. Attached to the paper was another note that read, “I’ll be up if you need to talk.”

Draco glanced back at his research and sent a silent apology to the patients waiting for his perfected potion. There was no way he would be able to focus on his work tonight. Cursing his mother for distracting him in the first place, Draco unfolded the paper on his bed next to the book and watched the interview.

When the reporter asked Potter about why he defended Draco and the others at their trials, Draco held his breath. Of course he knew what Potter would say – the _Chosen One_ had explained his reasoning in the book, but Draco found that he wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear Potter say what he wanted the world to accept.

That he deserved a second chance.

Suddenly, Draco was angry. He was angry at Potter and his stupid book, he was angry at his father, he was angry at Voldemort, he was angry at himself for wasting his valuable time on this nonsense in the first place. Hurling the paper across the room, Draco let the sudden silence wash over him as he rested his head in his hands. He was _trying_ to move on and redeem himself and his family through his own means. He didn’t want Potter’s pity or help. He didn’t _need_ Potter to like him. He could do this on his own. It was why he had traveled away from England in the first place – to get a fresh start. To be away from his shame and his guilt and the nightmares and his mother and _Potter_ –

Draco opened his mouth but nothing came out. No scream, no sob, nothing. Maybe he couldn’t escape his past. Maybe he couldn’t sweep it under the rug and start fresh. But here was Potter of all people saying that Draco _deserved_ it.

That he _deserved_ a second chance.

He glanced over and miserably noted that his mother’s owl was still sitting on his dresser, watching him patiently.

“You’re not leaving without a reply, are you?” Draco whispered. His voice was hoarse and it made him cringe. He didn't want to show weakness. He couldn't _afford_ to show weakness.

The owl simply stared back at him, nonjudgmental.

Sighing, Draco reached out for a quill and, with shaky hands, wrote a brief note to his mother. He rolled it up and attached it to the owl’s leg, giving the bird a quick pet in the process.

“Tell her not to worry,” Draco muttered to the bird.

The owl seemed to give him a disbelieving stare before flying off.

Draco closed the window and turned to look down at the paper. Potter’s face was frozen in the picture on the front page. He looked older. Slightly weepy but strong. Content. Happy with himself and his decision.

Draco hated him for it.

Granted, Potter hadn’t gotten nearly the same amount of negative press that Draco and his family had received after the war. His parents had been under house arrest for that first year, only leaving to attend their trials. His father hadn’t gone to Azkaban like predicted. Draco had known at the time that Potter had spoken up in his favor but he hadn’t known what had been said. The book had answered that. The book had answered a lot of unasked questions Draco had held over the years. And now the entire world knew the truth of all that had happened.

Potter hadn’t sugarcoated the fact that Draco had been an insufferable prat and a bully during the beginning years at Hogwarts. And he hadn’t left Draco out when discussing the arduous events that happened at Malfoy Manor. But in the end, Potter’s view of him was a hopeful one. One that described Draco as someone who could show a lot of promise if given the chance to do good in the world.

Draco’s hand closed over his Dark Mark without him realizing.

Turning back to his research, Draco made up his mind. He wouldn’t return to England until his potion was perfected and he could return victorious.

And if he happened to run into Potter, so be it.


	2. Achievements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco completes his potion and Harry finds out about it.

Two months after his interview with Abigail, Harry was still waiting for the dust to settle from his book. Hermione told him that it would probably be a year or two until he stopped getting a hundred letters a week about the book. Harry put the majority of the letters into a storage compartment but saved the ones from family members of those lost in the battle. Those he kept in a separate trunk at Grimmauld Place. A few of his old classmates had reached out to him personally to express their opinions on the book – some positive, some not so much – but the majority of them thanked Harry for his honesty. They all believed that he shouldn’t try to cover up any of the horrors that Voldemort had inflicted.

The only people that he _hadn’t_ heard from were the Malfoys.

Harry knew from the trials that Draco had been sentenced to community service in Germany, but he hadn’t seen his old rival since then. Twice he had run into Mrs. Malfoy while visiting Diagon Alley. She had been compassionate and had inquired about Harry’s well-being in a way that reminded him vaguely of the professors from Hogwarts. But Harry hadn’t returned the decency. He hadn’t asked about Draco.

Maybe he should have.

**XXXXX**

He was sitting on a bench by the Burrow when Ginny came and sat beside him.

“You look glum.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Well that’s never a good thing.”

Harry gave her a smile which she returned easily. Looking out at the gardens, Harry said, “I haven’t heard from or about Malfoy in a while.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied with a sigh. “I didn’t expect him to thank me or anything for standing up for him at the trials. That wasn’t why I did it. I just thought that with the book and everything, he might…I don’t know…reach out?”

Ginny pursed her lips. “Do you _want_ him to?”

“I don’t know. It’s just unsettling, knowing that he’s probably read the book and hasn’t given a response. Everyone else has.”

“What makes you think he’s read it?”

“I think I’d read it if our positions were swapped.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between you two.”

Harry didn’t look so sure.

Ginny sighed. “Harry, he hasn’t returned to England in a really long time. Maybe closure for him is completing his community service and then finding something new to do with his life that’s away from here. People…recover in different ways.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Harry muttered after a moment. “That I should be worried about what he thinks when I barely thought about him while writing the book.”

“That’s not true,” she replied softly. “You didn’t _not_ think of him.”

“No…I guess you’re right.”

They were quiet for a few minutes.

“Should I have told him?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “If you told everyone mentioned in the book that you were going to include them, I think you would have sent more postage out than you’ve already received about the book.”

“Should I owl him?”

“And say what? ‘Hope you weren’t offended that I called you a prat and then said you’re not half bad?’”

Harry laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know if I said it like _that_.”

“No, but that’s probably how I would have taken it in his shoes. But I still think he’s too busy being a pompous git to have read it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Harry replied, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe he’ll never read it.”

**XXXXX**

Harry didn’t see it on the front page of the _Prophet_. Nor did he see it on the second or the third page. It was on the fifth page, in a small column towards the bottom that he read:

**Draco Malfoy Creates Potion to Cure Memory Loss and Ease Dementia in Patients**

Underneath the title was a moving photograph of Draco standing beside Kingsley Shacklebolt, his mother, and two wizards identified as the director of St. Mungo’s and a potions master for the Ministry respectively.

Harry stared at the image for a long moment. Draco wasn’t exactly _smiling_ but he did look proud and pleased with himself as far as Malfoy facial expressions go. His hair was neatly trimmed and his robes looked pristine. His mother was beaming and even Kingsley had the sense to lose his typical scowl for the picture.

Eyes continuing on, Harry read:

**Draco Malfoy has successfully completed a new potion that will cure memory loss and help ease suffering among patients with dementia. The potion has been deemed effective and safe by both members of the Wizarding Council of Medicine and approved doctors from the Muggle world. Draco Malfoy has engineered the potion to be dispensable through both flask method and needle and vial method so that both wizards and Muggles alike can benefit from the potion.**

**“Dementia is something that affects more families than it should,” Draco told us last week. “In this day and age, I have found it impossible that more has not yet been done to ease the suffering of those who struggle with it. I am hopeful that my potion will bring peace to those affected and their families.”**

**Given his accomplishment at such a young age, we reached out to Headmistress Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts who had Draco as a student during his years there.**

**“Draco was always a dedicated student,” Headmistress McGonagall had to say of him. “He received O’s on all of his NEWTs, was made prefect his fifth year by the late potions master Severus Snape, was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and was known by his classmates for having a deep love of potions while in school. I am not surprised that he has accomplished a grand feat like this for such a young age.”**

[Harry briefly wondered how much pumpkin juice she had had to drain before finding something positive to say about Malfoy.]

**Draco, who has spent the last three years working on this creation as a way to fill his community service hours, continued to say that he hopes this will help right some of his wrongs and bring solace to the world. For those who might not remember, Draco was, of course, responsible for allowing several Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself to enter Hogwarts through a Vanishing Cabinet.  He was acquitted and not sent to Azkaban like some of his companions.**

**“I was given a second chance,” Draco went on to say. “And with that chance I have tried to create something beautiful that will ease suffering on a worldwide scale. I know that it will not be enough to erase the harmful actions of my past, but I hope that with this opportunity, I can begin to make up for my past transgressions.”**

**Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had this to say about Draco Malfoy and his potion: “What I see before me is a young man gifted with intelligence and promise as a potions master. Draco Malfoy has done something that none of his superiors in the Ministry have been capable of achieving. Through hard work and perseverance, Draco has proven himself a fine man, worthy of respect and admiration for his skill. I openly extend an invitation for him to join the Ministry and work for our Potions Department upon the completion of his community service hours.”**

**Draco is set to complete his community service hours in two weeks. At this time, we are unclear about whether or not he will accept the Minister’s offer.**

**It should be noted that when asked about his personal reaction to famed Harry Potter’s tell-all book, Draco merely replied, “No comment.”**

**XXXXX**

“Of course they had to throw in that bit about me being an ex-Death Eater and mention glorified _Chosen One_ Potter,” Draco muttered, tossing his copy of the _Prophet_ aside.

“I don’t know. I think with McGonagall and Shacklebolts’ kind words, your image won’t take that drastic of a hit,” Blaise replied from where he sat across from Draco in the small coffee shop. “And Shacklebolt included that bit about offering you a job. He didn’t have to do that.”

“I’m sure he’s getting thousands of outraged letters as we speak,” Draco said, glaring at his own picture in the paper.

“Have you considered it?”

Draco turned the glare to Blaise who raised his hands in defense.

“It’s not a bad offer, Draco. And you do need a job now that your hours are just about up. I’d consider it if I were you. Most people have to work _years_ in the Ministry before ever moving up to the position Shacklebolt handed you on a silver platter.”

He knew Blaise was right. It seemed everyone in his life wanted him to take the job – Blaise, Goyle, his mother, his _father_ …

Blaise reached out and rested a hand on top of Draco’s. “I’m not saying that it’s going to be easy. Everything you do will be scrutinized and studied and triple-checked the way this potion was. Hell, I _still_ get flack at Hogwarts just because I was a Slytherin. But this could lead to a steady source of income with a good social standing for you and your mom. Others haven’t been so lucky.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Draco sighed. He thought of Crabbe alight with flame.

Blaise’s thumb rubbed back and forth soothingly for a moment. “Try it. And we’ll all be here for you through the rest of it.”

Draco allowed the corner of his lips to twitch up briefly.

**XXXXX**

It wasn’t that Harry _hated_ the Ministry. Ron, Hermione, and Arthur all worked there. Kingsley was in charge and had done a spectacular job cleaning up the mess Fudge and Scrimgeour had made of the place. It was just that Harry didn’t have the fondest memories of the place and didn’t usually have any particular reason for visiting.

Until he had read about Draco’s potion and had heard from Ron that Draco was now working for the Ministry.

Flushing himself down the toilet in Whitehall was never a happy experience, but Harry endured it. He had Glamoured himself to blend in – Kingsley knew of his arrival and had waved him in happily. They spent some time briefly catching up, Kingsley sharing events happening at the Ministry, Harry telling him of his time with Charlie and the dragons, while Kingsley led him through the halls and down the lifts. Harry had disguised himself as a visiting professor from Durmstrang that nobody really knew and therefore attracted relatively small attention.

Draco had been assigned to Level 3: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Kingsley informed Harry that Malfoy had been instructed to develop potions to reverse spells caused by memory loss or dementia, in which case the caster might not remember which spell they had activated.

“He truly has a remarkable gift,” Kingsley was saying as the lift brought them to the right floor. “Such a shame that we couldn’t get a hold of him sooner, before all of the madness happened. He might have been a valuable apprentice before he even finished school.”

Harry resisted the urge to note that he had been recruited for the Order around the same time Draco had been officially recruited by Voldemort. “He’s really done all of this by himself?”

Kingsley nodded. “While in Germany he was heavily monitored and wasn’t allowed to perform a lot of magic. We checked many times, but there was no way that he could have fabricated the results. He truly made that potion by himself with nothing but materials given to him and his own brain. It’s rather incredible.”

Harry was quiet at that. In truth, he was a barrel of nerves. It had been _years_ since he had seen Draco in person and he wasn’t sure how Draco was going to react upon seeing him. This was probably a terrible idea. He hadn’t told Ron or Hermione of his plan to visit Draco because they would have talked him out of it.

But something in him told him that he needed to see Draco.

“And what about you? How have you been?”

“Me?” Harry asked, shifting on his feet. He still wasn’t used to attention being directed at him, no matter how small. “I’m getting along okay. I had fun helping Charlie.”

“You know, my offer still stands if you ever want to take it.”

“Thank you, but no,” Harry replied politely with a smile. “I’m not made to be an Auror. I think I’ve faced enough dark magic to last me a lifetime.”

“The headmistress told me you turned her down too.”

“I’m afraid the students would be more in awe of me than actually try to learn anything,” Harry confessed. “And besides, I’ve heard that Zabini’s doing a great job over there as the new DADA professor.”

“He is, but I think you could do better,” Kingsley smirked with a wink as they arrived at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. “Let me know if you ever change your mind. There’s a permanent spot open for you on whichever level you like.”

Harry gave him his thanks before turning and walking down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to those of you who review this fic and leave a kind comment. Your kind words help get me through the dark days and encourage me to write more. Thank you!


	3. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits Draco at the Ministry and emotions fly

The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is divided into three subsections, each with their own extensive library and work halls: the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, the Obliviator Headquarters, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Upon beginning his new job as a member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Draco Malfoy found that the majority of the employees worked alone in their own spaces, joining up only on the most difficult of cases. He also discovered fairly quickly that every member of the department was…eccentric. There was David Nifflebottom who wore mismatched earrings every day, Quina Kitch who drank about thirteen cups of tea a day, and Hank Junmer who liked to blast rock music from the Muggle world through the walls of his office. Of course there were many other witches and wizards working in Draco’s assigned department, but those three were the ones he ran into the most and who were the most polite to him upon his start at the Ministry.

"My great-aunt has dementia," Hank had told him one day while they were flipping through a case file. "The work we do, the work _you_ do, greatly helps the lives of so many without us always realizing."

Having his own space to work in without the ever-visible eyes of Aurors watching him was also a nice upgrade from his time in Germany. While his research was monitored and checked every day for flaws, it wasn’t until the end of the day when Draco handed in his research notes that someone, usually David or Quina, perused his work. And when they did review his stuff, they were always very polite and easy-going about it. Draco didn’t feel as pressured to show results as he had when he had been performing community service.

But he wanted to.

As the days went by, Draco found himself growing more and more accustomed to life working for the Ministry. While his coworkers in other departments avoided him altogether or spat at him as he walked by, David, Quina, and Hank were very accepting and welcoming, which made the experience not as unbearable as he thought it was going to be.

"We all got pasts we're not proud of," Quina had whispered to him on the way back from lunch one afternoon. "Anyone who tells you otherwise is a dumb git."

He had even managed to avoid running into anyone he had known from his past. Neither Granger nor the Weasel had shown up yet to bother him or hassle him. All in all, Draco was starting to feel rather okay with his situation.

Until Harry Potter walked into his office.

Draco had been reading when the knock came on his office door. Rather than looking up to see who his visitor was, he called for them to enter as he finished the page in his book.

The official robes, strawberry-blond hair, soft blue eyes, pale skin, and visible freckles across the neck weren’t enough to deceive Draco. He hadn’t spent all of that time around Potter in those seven years at school not to recognize him on sight.

_Thank Aunt Bellatrix for that particular training_ , he thought bitterly.

Time seemed to slow as Potter stepped into his office and cleared his throat. Draco’s heartbeat picked up slightly as he tried to steel his gaze into something resembling neutrality. He wasn’t sure what Potter was doing in his office but he told himself that he wasn’t going to give the acclaimed hero a chance to embarrass him.

“Whatever it is you want, Potter, I do not have the time for.” Draco sent a silent thanks to whoever might be listening that his voice didn’t waver.

Potter’s light eyebrows rose as he asked, “How did you know it was me?”

His voice made Draco pause briefly. He hadn't heard the sound since the interview in the _Prophet_. He sniffed and let some of the old Malfoy arrogance slip in as he replied, “Please. You honestly thought I would be fooled by that poor excuse at a Glamour?”

Potter looked as if he was going to say something but then seemed to think better of it and gestured to the chair in front of Draco’s desk. “Can I sit?”

“I would have thought that you could do anything in this building,” Draco replied haughtily but gestured for his adversary to sit anyway.

Potter nodded with a quick lick to his lips before sitting down. The walls of Draco’s office were made of glass to allow any officials to glance in and check in on the ex-Death Eater. It was for this reason that Draco figured Potter didn’t drop the Glamour.

“What is it that you want?”

At the question, Potter actually looked nervous. Embarrassed. He folded and unfolded his hands on his lap.

Draco’s attention zeroed in on that and he felt his brow quirk in a silent question.

“I wanted to ask you before coming here if I could, but I wasn’t sure you would let me.”

“Haven’t we already established that such a request wouldn’t be up to me? Shacklebolt would change the curtains if you asked it of him.”

“They do look a little drab,” Potter tried to joke as he glanced out through the clear walls at the tapestries that hung across from the bookshelves.

Draco blinked. “I ask again, what are you doing here?”

Potter’s attention slowly turned back to fixate on Draco. The blond fought the urge to shift under that gaze and instead remained steady and still like a mountain. They sat there, staring at each other for a few silent seconds, before Potter spoke.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your potion.”

Resisting the urge to cock a mocking eyebrow, Draco remained still, waiting for Potter to elaborate.

“I thought what you did was…exceptional. Impressive. And I know that it’s going to help a lot of people. It already has." He paused and glanced down at the table between them for a moment. "Professor Sprout wasn’t well and she took your potion…they said that thanks to it, she was able to visit Hogwarts and give a guest lecture. Neville was psyched.”

Draco thought for a brief second that Potter was patronizing him but the hero’s gaze was earnest and serious as he looked up, even from behind the fake face.

“Charlie said that I could have just sent an owl but, well, your potion helped someone we _know_. And in a big way, too. I thought this merited more than just a quick message." He licked his lips and Draco resisted the sudden urge to track the movement with his eyes. "I wanted you to hear my gratitude from me directly. I thought…well…I guess it doesn’t really matter much what I thought, but I wanted to thank you. You’re doing amazing work and…it’s helping people. That’s all.”

They were quiet for a few moments. Draco studied Potter even after the hero’s gaze dropped to a spot on Draco’s desk. Draco watched him bite his lip again.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

Potter looked up quickly.

Draco’s face remained impassive even as he shook his head. “First you write a tell-all book in which I’m mentioned 236 times -" Potter's eyes widened "-and don’t even think to inform me ahead of time that I’m to be mentioned at all. Thankfully I was in Germany or I would have gotten haggled by the masses. _Then_ you do that stupid interview to boost your own recognition in which you defend the honor of an ex-Death Eater, making yourself look like even more of the heroic figure the _Prophet_ ’s destined you to be seen as while all the while you never contact me to see how I am or how I might react to the whole thing. And _now_ here you are, having the audacity to tell me that my work _matters_? You are something else.” Draco tried not to think about how his level voice sounded faintly like his father's in that moment. 

Potter flinched but didn’t move away. “I thought you wanted space.”

“I did. And then you had to go and drag me back into the spotlight from a hundred miles away.”

“I should have told you I was writing it.”

Draco pursed his lips for a minute while he regarded Potter. Even though Potter had told him the reason for coming, he still wasn't sure he knew the real reason. “No. You didn’t need to. We’re not friends, Potter. We never were. I’m not even sure why you bothered to speak up for me at the trials at all. Was it a guilty conscience? Were you just returning the favor? My mother saves your life and you make sure her future and mine are not connected to Azkaban?”

“I did it because of why I said I did in the book and the interview. I wasn’t lying.”

“Oh really? You expect me to believe that you weren’t stretching the truth to fit your own personal agenda?”

Potter clenched his fists and visibly struggled to maintain his composure.

Draco felt something jump inside of him at the sight.

“I know this may sound hard to believe given how much shite you probably read about me in the papers, but I didn’t do it for the fame _or_ the fortune like everyone says," Potter began lowly. "I did it because writing that book gave me a second chance. I got to tell the harsh reality of what happened without anyone trying to sugarcoat it or leave the bad stuff out or censor my story. You think I came out of the war unscathed?" His voice was growing in volume and Draco felt it pulsate through him. "You think I don’t wake up in cold sweats dreaming about that battle or every encounter with Voldemort or all the innocent deaths that should have been prevented or when I marred your body with a spell I didn’t even know what it –” Potter cut himself off.

Silence. Except for the sound of their ragged breathing, the office was silent.

"Is that what this is about?" Draco asked softly. "Redemption?"

"Isn't everything?"

Swallowing, he tried to look away from Potter but found that he couldn’t. He hadn't expected Potter to...to...

When Draco didn’t reply, Potter broke his gaze and looked away, muttering, “You can think what you want of me. Merlin knows everyone else does. But I believe in second chances. For you, for me, for all of us. And I really was impressed with your potion. I just…wanted to tell you that.”

Potter went to stand but Draco’s voice, soft and unsure of himself, made him pause.

“You were right...in the book."

Potter glanced back at him but Draco didn't meet his eyes. "I was surprised when my mother, of all people, sent me a copy and asked me to read it. You were...so _you_ in it. I was surprised."

"You thought I had a ghostwriter?"

"I didn't know what to think." The honesty of his statement hit a little too close to home and Draco cleared his throat. “Why put yourself out there on a limb for me?”

“Because I understand why you did what you did.”

Draco was speechless. He tried to convince himself that Potter was messing with him, that the kid was just trying to make himself look good after all, but he couldn’t do it. Potter was too open.

He always had been.

“I’m not sure if I would have made all of the same decisions,” Potter continued after a beat, “but I get it. It took me a while, I’ll admit, but…I understand now. And I don’t think you deserve to face dementors again. They’re not something I’d wish on anybody right now,” he finished with a humorless smile.

_Drop the Glamour, Potter._

The words were on the tip of Draco’s tongue but he didn’t say them. _Couldn’t_ say them. His pale hands gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles were almost white. He couldn’t speak. What _could_ he say that he ha –

Potter rose from his chair and looked down at Draco.

“I don’t want to go another few years wondering about you or reading about your successes in the paper. If you ever want to talk or tell me what you’re up to in person, I’m free. Neither of us should feel caged anymore…even if it sometimes feels like we still are.”

_Drop the Glamour, Potter._

“Alright.” It was the only thing Draco could manage to get out.

Potter seemed to understand this and nodded, giving Draco a fleeting smile, soft and genuine, before he turned and walked out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please review if you're enjoying this fic so far! Kind words give me hope.


	4. Corresponding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a nightmare and Potter receives a letter...

“How did it go?” Ginny asked.

They were sitting on that same bench in front of the Burrow, watching butterflies hover above the flowers.

Harry shook his head.

Ginny reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He listened to you, right? That’s got to count for something.”

“I wasn’t expecting to unload like I did. I’ve probably ruined any chance of future communication.”

“Is that really such a bad thing? I mean, he seems to be doing well for himself and his work isn’t hurting anybody. Even Dad’s complimented his potions and we both thought that he’d die before ever singing the praises of a Malfoy!”

“I don’t know what it is, Gin,” Harry replied, stretching out so that he could put an arm around her. “The book’s proven to have done me a lot of good and I’m glad I wrote it. I guess I just thought that it would open a link between us. You know, a way for us to talk about what happened and move past it together.”

She leaned into his touch and put her head on his shoulder. “It’s only been two days. Maybe he just needs time to think about it.”

Harry frowned and wondered if she was right.

**XXXXX**

Draco hadn't _stopped_ thinking about his encounter with Potter.

It was something of a miracle that he was able to get any work done at the Ministry what with his mind constantly running in circles.

He had convinced himself that he wasn't going to take Potter's offer and initiate conversation. Potter had no business knowing what went on in Draco's life. They weren't friends. They could barely tolerate one another. Draco half-suspected that Potter didn't even _want_ to know what was going on in his life - he had probably just made that stupid offer to be nice.

And Draco was far too old for any form of fake friendship.

But Potter _had_ seemed earnest.

For the hundredth time that day, Draco looked at the clock and calculated how much longer until he could go home and bury himself in his bed with no more thoughts of Potter.

**XXXXX**

Unfortunately, thoughts of Potter followed him home.

His copy of Potter's book sat on a shelf in his bedroom, goading him. Draco glared at it from his bed. He thought about stashing it somewhere out of sight where he wouldn't have to see it, but he knew that it would find its way back to his shelf, by his means or his mother's. Sighing, Draco turned his back to the book and attempted to sleep.

**XXXXX**

He was in a cage. The confining structure held him deep in an unfamiliar dungeon. His robes were bloodied and torn and covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime. He tried pulling himself to the bars of his cage but a hundred cuts across his body caused him to cry out in pain. He could feel blood seeping out of the wounds and into the fabric of his robes.

He was alone. Trapped with his suffering in a rusted cage. Draco opened his mouth to call out for help but all that came out was a sob.

From somewhere far away, he heard a faint voice whisper, "...When I marred your body with a spell I didn’t even know what it –”

Draco cried out in pain as the cuts on his body magically sealed and then reopened. It was a slow and steady torture.

He wanted to die.

"Please," he called out to the darkness.

There was no answer.

Instead, Draco held himself as the symbol on his forearm flared. He watched through crying eyes as a figure slowly loomed into view. As the figure raised a bony hand, Draco awoke with a start from the nightmare. His pajamas were soaked through with sweat and the sheets were damp. He was shaking.

A soft knock at the door caused him to jump and grab his wand but it was only his mother's voice that he heard.

"Draco? Darling, are you alright?"

He opened his mouth but the words wouldn't come at first. "I'm - I'm fine." He waited for his mother to pry but he heard her footsteps pad away. Quickly Draco tore at his pajamas, ripping his shirt off and casting a shaky " _Lumos_ " to see his chest.

The scars hadn't reopened. In fact, they were just as faint as they had been when he had gotten dressed that morning. Silver and pale, they crossed his skin like shards of glass embedded. His Dark Mark was quiet from its spot on his forearm.

He clutched his wand tightly, waiting for that same figure from his dream to appear in his room.

But Voldemort didn't show.

**XXXXX**

A furious tapping woke Harry from sleep roughly a week after his trip to the Ministry. He blinked around in the darkness of his bedroom for a moment before reaching out blindly for his glasses. Pulling them on, he sat up in bed and turned toward the sound. An owl was mashing its beak into his window, trying to get his attention.

“What in bloody hell…?”

Harry groaned as he dragged himself out of bed to open the window and let the furious bird in. He had Grimmauld charmed so that only the pets of his friends and closest companions could get in. But this creature was unfamiliar to him. Did Grimmauld consider its sender a friend of Harry's?

The owl squawked impatiently at him, as if personally insulted that he had kept it waiting for more than a moment. When Harry reached for the note tied around its leg, the owl hopped away and fluttered its wings at him.

“Look, you woke me up. The least you can do is just let me see what the bloody message is.”

The owl stared at Harry for a few piercing beats before lifting its leg reluctantly.

“Bloody bird,” Harry sighed as he took the message and unraveled it.

**Potter,**

**I’m not sure what there is to talk about. You published a book that clearly gives your side of our shared years at Hogwarts. I cannot admit that my experience terribly differs from how you described it in the book. So I ask you this: what is there to talk about?**

**-D.M.**

Harry stared at the note for a long moment. It wasn’t a dismissal. Malfoy was asking a genuine question. Reaching for a quill, he wrote back:

**Well, if I recall correctly, you always had a soft spot for Quidditch.**

**-Harry Potter**

He tied the note to the owl’s leg and gave it a treat from a box by his bed. Even though he had told Ron that he wasn’t ready to get a new pet yet, Harry had gone out and bought a fresh box of treats just in case he changed his mind. ‘Take baby steps,’ Luna had advised him.

Wondering whether or not Draco would reply immediately, Harry summoned the time and sighed when he saw it was 3:14 in the morning. Figuring he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, Harry made his way down the staircase of Grimmauld and into the kitchen for some coffee. His cup was just about ready when Malfoy’s owl returned and flew down to the kitchen to deliver the post.

**Potter,**

**Since I’ve been in Germany as of late, I haven’t had a chance to visit the World Cup. But my sources tell me that both the Harpies and the Chudley Cannons are not looking too promising for this year’s competition. I’m sure the Weasels will be devastated.**

**-D.M.**

Harry couldn’t help but smile around his cup. Malfoy had remembered. Of course he had. Even when Malfoy used to bully them in school, he had always remembered what Harry and Ron liked in order to mock them with it. It was an odd memory that made the tilt of his smile last a little bit longer.

**Malfoy,**

**I don’t know. My sources are rather reliable and they seem to believe that the Harpies will stand a solid chance this year. Green and gold will light up the sky.**

Harry drank more of his coffee as he mused over what he had written. Was it too cheesy? No. Probably. Maybe. It was missing something. He tilted his head and studied Draco’s owl, who was giving him a rather put-off expression, if birds were capable of making such a face.

**Also, your bird seems rather pissed that you forced it to fly at such an ungodly hour. I know that Care of Magical Creatures isn’t exactly your specialty, so I feel I must warn you that a vengeful bird is one of the worst enemies one can have.**

**-Harry Potter**

Harry read the last part aloud to the owl and it seemed to approve. The bird didn’t put up a struggle as Harry tied the new note to its leg, which he took as a positive sign in his favor.

He didn’t have to wait as long for a response.

**Potter,**

**I’ll have you know that Aquila Malfoy, like all true Malfoys, is a very proud individual who probably doesn’t like having to wait for the intended to open his window.**

**-D.M.**

Harry blinked at the odd name. There was something…off about it. Granted, nobody in the Malfoy family was known for having a common first name. How had Malfoy come up with it? After a brief translation spell, Harry couldn’t help but smile at his findings. Quickly, he wrote back:

**You named your eagle owl “Eagle”?**

**-Harry Potter**

He finished off his cup of coffee and debated pouring a second cup as he waited for the assuredly flippant response.

**Potter,**

**There was a rumor second year that you named the basilisk “Slither.” Are you really prepared to judge?**

**-D.M.**

Harry laughed; he couldn’t help it. Conversing with Malfoy was so...easy. It was like talking to Neville or Ron. He wasn't sure where this...friendly? side of Malfoy had emerged from. He had certainly seemed rather closed off when Harry visited him at the Ministry.

Although, _Malfoy had_ opened up a bit when he saw him.

Just enough.

Could they have talked like this back in school if things had been different?

That thought caused his mind to sober as he gazed down at Malfoy’s letter. _Why_ was this so easy? He had poured his heart out at Malfoy at the Ministry and had barely gotten a response. Granted, he had decided that Malfoy had been shocked by his words and the truth and hadn’t known what to say, but Harry was still skeptical.

But maybe this _was_ Malfoy’s response. Maybe Malfoy had just needed time to process and this was him reaching out.

Suddenly Harry didn’t know what to say.

He wanted to ask all kinds of questions in his letter but he couldn’t – not yet. This, their current, easy-going conversation, was a start. And it was a good enough start for Harry. He _had_ wanted some form of communication and here he was getting it. He wasn’t about to push his luck.

**Malfoy,**

**Ron has been nagging me to get a pet. While I greatly enjoyed my time with Charlie and the dragons, I don’t think I could fit one in Grimmauld Place. Thoughts?**

**-Harry Potter**

Malfoy’s reply took longer to receive. Harry washed his mug and put it into the sink before making his way back up to his bedroom. He checked the time and found that it wouldn’t be long before the sun would start to rise. Had he really been conversing with Malfoy this long? He climbed into bed, not yet wanting to start his day, and burrowed under the blankets. He stared up at the ceiling while he waited for Aquila to fly in with Malfoy’s response.

**Potter,**

**I would recommend getting a completely normal pet like an owl or a cat but considering you haven’t done one normal thing in the decade I’ve known you, I feel the suggestion would be pointless.**

**I haven’t seen Granger riled up in a while so I must insist on a house-elf. They’re obedient, understand you, and can perform a multitude of tricks. I’ve been considering adopting a few new ones for the Manor but I just can’t seem to find one that is toilet-trained.**

**I must admit that I was surprised to find you back at Grimmauld Place. I half-expected Aquila to return to me with my initial letter still attached. I presumed you would have gone back to the dragons.**

**-D.M.**

Harry sat up to write his response before lying down and stretching his limbs out under the covers.

**I wanted to. But I’m not interested enough in dragons to make studying them a long-lasting career. Being with Charlie was a nice escape while things settled but now I need to consider what’s next for me. I know I have options but I’m not interested in any of them. Selfish and stupid, isn’t it?**

**-Harry Potter**

It was the realest admission Harry had made during their entire conversation. The future terrified him. He didn’t know what he wanted now that Voldemort was dead. What was his new purpose? Hermione, Ron, Ginny - all of the others had found jobs they enjoyed and excelled at. Even Malfoy had found a stable career in creating potions to help the sick.

What was _Harry_ supposed to do now?

As he waited for a reply, he wondered if Malfoy would change the subject with a joke or mock him for having limitless options at his fingertips and not wanting any of it. A self-deprecating part of Harry wanted him to. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about it. It certainly wasn’t the best image – Harry complaining about not knowing what he wanted to do while Malfoy had been forced into a specific career.

Harry laid there, fretting about what he had said, when Aquila flew back in and landed softly on his bed.

**Potter,**

**I’ve found that by asking myself, “If I could go anywhere in the world right now, where would I go?” I have started to explore the possibility of life beyond the U.K. I was fortunate enough to have been able to choose Germany as the place where I completed my research. So I ask you now – if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?**

**-D.M.**

Harry pondered Malfoy’s question. He hadn't known that Malfoy had _chosen_ Germany. That made a difference. As for where he would like to go, Harry wasn’t sure. There were places that he would love to visit but without a plan, without a purpose for going…

But that was Malfoy’s point.

There didn’t have to _be_ a purpose for going other than to just _go_.

Harry bit his lip. While he hadn’t written the tell-all with the purpose of making money, he _had_ obtained a sizable amount of funds. Most of it had gone to George’s shop or Hogwarts or repairs for the Burrow but Harry still had a large amount remaining. Certainly more money than he needed to live on. 

Maybe he needed a vacation.

But he had already taken a vacation when he went to work with Charlie!

He got so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t noticed Aquila leave and return with a follow-up note.

**Potter,**

**Don’t over think it.**

**Where would you go?**

**-D.M.**

_Hogsmeade_ , Harry wanted to say. But Malfoy was waiting for a reply about somewhere unknown to Harry. Somewhere _new_. Suddenly, that fact mattered a great deal to Harry. He wasn't sure why, but he _wanted_ to come up with an answer that Malfoy wouldn't expect. Maybe it was a flashback to their competitive days at school, but Harry _liked_ the idea of surprising Malfoy. It was probably one of the reasons behind his showing up at the Ministry unannounced.

**Malfoy,**

**I hear the Heidelberg Harriers are doing well this season. Would you be interested in returning to Germany for a game?**

**-Harry Potter**

Harry didn’t know shite about the team’s standings this year but Germany _was_ somewhere new. And while it was unfamiliar to him, Malfoy should have learned an awful lot about the place during his time there. A tiny voice that resembled both Hermione and Ron informed Harry that it was a terrible idea asking Malfoy to a Quidditch match in an unfamiliar country, and that he was most assuredly going to get killed, but once Harry had finished writing the letter, he found that he was excited for a response.

One came without delay.

**I would.  
**

**-D.M.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one this was! I added almost every scene of Draco's last minute because I felt the chapter needed it. The exchange of letters between Harry and Draco was really fun to write and a scene that I've read and reread many times over before posting because of how much I personally love it. I hope that you're enjoying this so far and don't forget to leave a review!! Much love.


	5. The Not-Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry deal with nerves before their not-date. Then, they go to Germany together...

This was going to be a disaster. A fucking nightmare. What had he been thinking? Though, Draco supposed he really _hadn’t_ been thinking. He had awoken from that same nightmare for the third night in a row when, in a blind panic of needing a distraction, he had sent that letter to Potter. He had never expected a _response_! After he had gotten over the initial shock of Potter replying when he wasn’t supposed to, Draco had discovered that Potter had a side to him that was engaging, humorous, and, dare he say, _enjoyable_ to talk to.

Where the fuck had that come from?

Although, he would be lying if he said that Potter hadn’t had his memorable moments during their time together at Hogwarts. And talking to Potter _had_ helped calm him down after his nightmare.

…At least until Potter had made that fucking suggestion/offer to – to what? Go for an _outing_? A _joining_? A jolly good skip through the hills of fucking Germany?

“Fucking disaster is what it’ll be,” he muttered to himself as he closed the book he had been trying fruitlessly to read all morning.

Potter had absolutely no business being that way at 3 in the fucking morning. Hadn’t he been pissed that Draco woke him up with a letter? Hadn’t he wanted sleep? What kind of insomniac –

Draco tapped his fingers on his desk angrily. This somewhat new side to Potter didn’t earn him the right to ask Draco out. Because that’s what Draco would have labeled it as if anyone else had asked him to view a Quidditch match in Germany.

But that was absolutely _absurd_.

Potter had _not_ asked him out on a date. It _wasn’t_ a date. They hated each other. He had probably just asked Draco because –

Because why?

Had he thought Draco would be _available_?

Considering the majority of Draco’s associates were either in Azkaban or still performing community service, that train of thought would be plausible. But just because he _might_ be free for an adventure didn’t mean he _needed_ to. Potter’s kind words didn’t obligate Draco to go. Kindness didn’t obligate Draco to go on a date with anyone.

Especially not with Harry fucking Potter.

And besides, Draco did not _want_ it to be a date. Ex-Death Eaters don’t go on dates with the _Prophet_ ’s Golden Boy. It simply wasn’t done.

But Draco had always been something of a trend-setter.

“Ridiculous,” he sighed to the empty office. "It's ridiculous to even consider he'd want it to be a date."

It didn’t matter that said Golden Boy defended him many times over, openly gave him a second chance and encouraged the wizarding world to do the same, or that he complimented him on his rather stellar potion. It didn’t matter that Potter hadn’t been able to contain that Gryffindor spirit that surged every time he stood up for something he believed in –

A knock on his door startled him out of his musings and Draco looked up to see Quina poke her head in.

“Just wanted to let you know that your requested time off this Friday got approved by the superiors. Rather quirky of you requesting time off when you’ve barely started.”

“Yes, well, I’ve had an…opportunity spring up and I would hate to decline.”

_Opportunity?_ Opportunity _? For what? To go on a date with Potter?_

“Oh, I see. I hope you’re not leaving us for a different job. The blokes and I have grown kind of fond of your broodiness.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not leaving, Quina.”

Her face perked up considerably. “Oh! Good! The others will be pleased to hear that. Anyway, I better get back to work. See you at lunch!”

Draco waved to her as she drifted out of sight. Quirky Quina, the others called her. Always vanishing as quickly as she appeared.

Turning back to his desk, he chewed at his bottom lip. Would Potter have told his friends about their plan? Surely they wouldn’t let him go – at least not alone. Would he have to worry about a pair of nosey eyes following them everywhere? What if the press found out? Draco wasn’t sure whose image would be affected more.

Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck.

In his sleep-deprived state earlier, traipsing off to Germany with Potter had held a mystical appeal that Draco hadn’t experienced since his first visit to Hogsmeade. He had answered Potter’s question without giving it a second thought and now he had to pay the price for it.

“Bloody cunning Slytherin I am,” he sighed out to the empty office.

He hadn’t expected Potter to ever ask him to join him. He had simply been fishing to find out where Potter would be interested in traveling to alone. Or with someone else. Someone who wasn’t an ex-Death Eater. It had been a question to keep the conversation flowing, not a lure for Potter to invite him out.

_Is it such a bad idea?_

“Of course it’s a bad idea,” Draco muttered to himself.

There were still two days until Friday. His own Slytherin pride wouldn't allow him to back out like a coward but maybe Potter would cancel. They _had_ made plans at an ungodly hour in the morning with both of them running on very little sleep. It would be completely understandable if Potter felt uncomfortable and wanted to back out now that he had gathered his wits about him. Draco wouldn’t blame him. In fact, Draco told himself that he would be delighted if Potter canceled. He’d be able to work a full shift from early morning until late afternoon and not worry about falling behind. Although he could always just work from home on the weekend to make up for it. Or go in for a few hours on Sunday. 

Not that it terribly mattered since the department didn't have any tough cases at the moment.

But still...

As he watched the minutes tick by, Draco had an uneasy feeling that Potter wouldn’t cancel.

**XXXXX**

“You WHAT?”

“Harry, this is _insane_!”

“He’ll kill you!”

“I’ll bet he’s been waiting for this opportunity for years –”

“He’ll lure you into the woods and bury your body without anyone knowing –”

“– Probably torture you first –”

“–Cut you into a million pieces –”

“–Filthy git that he is –”

“Would all of you shut _up_?” Ginny’s voice roared over the crowd. Hermione, Ron, and George all quieted down as Ginny crossed her arms angrily. “Look, we all know Malfoy’s a prick, but this is something that Harry clearly wants to do so we should support him. And the Heidelberg Harriers are worthy opponents on the field. I’m sure it will be a fun time if he goes.”

“You could still cancel,” Ron advised him, totally ignoring his sister’s words.

“You _should_ cancel,” George agreed.

Ginny turned her back on the others to look at Harry. “I think that you should definitely be careful but if Malfoy really has grown a personality like you claim he has, then I think you should go.”

“You _want_ him to get tortured and killed?”

“ _No_ , Ronald, I do not. I _want_ him to have a pleasant time and if it’s going to be with Malfoy of all people then so be it.”

“Have you gone completely mental?” Ron asked incredulously.

“Look. The Ministry will know where Malfoy is since he had to get permission to take off from work for the match. And if anything _does_ go wrong, then you and Hermione will be the first to know since you both work there,” Ginny replied sharply, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder. She reminded Harry of Molly so much in that moment. Her voice lowered as she took Harry’s hands in hers. Meeting his eyes, she whispered, “You’ve seemed happier lately than you’ve been in a long time. And while there’s a possibility that this will blow up in your face, you won’t know unless you go and give it a chance.”

“Do you really want to do this, mate?” Ron asked Harry quietly. “I mean, two pleasant conversations with the git in years doesn't change a lot, does it? It would be fine if you backed out. I’m just saying –”

“I want to go,” Harry cut in. It was the first sentence he had gotten in since telling his friends why he wouldn’t be able to hang out on Friday night. “Sure, I was really tired when I invited him, but I don’t regret it. He’s…changed. Opened up a bit. I don’t know…I want to talk to him more. And it’s just a trip to a Quidditch match. It’s not a proposal.”

“Why the bloody hell would you _want_ to talk to him? Have you forgotten how he made our lives hell for seven years?” Ron asked.

"Longer than that," George muttered under his breath.

Hermione bit her lip. “Ron has a point, Harry. Malfoy’s not exactly the most…”

“Heartfelt?” George offered. “Honest? Compassionate?”

“He’s a git,” Ron agreed with his brother.

“Guys,” Ginny complained. “You should be supportive of the fact that Harry’s going out at all!”

“Yeah, you have become something of a recluse.”

“Thank you! I'm really feeling the love! It’s a wonder I bother telling any of you anything,” Harry sighed as he stood up.

“We’re just trying to look out for you, Harry –”

“Hermione, I know this is kind of a ridiculous notion, but I’m perfectly capable of making decisions that _don’t_ lead to the end of the world,” Harry cut in scathingly as he left the room.

“If you want us to follow you, we will!” Ron called out.

Harry thought he heard Ginny punch her brother but he couldn't be sure as he left the Burrow.

**XXXX**

Harry paced Grimmauld Place, fretting about his decision. He had wanted his friends to support him and encourage him and instead they had reminded him of the past. He could understand where they were coming from but he wanted to show them that Malfoy was worth a second chance.

He wanted them to believe in his decisions.

He wasn’t surprised when a puff of green smoke appeared in his fireplace but he was surprised that it was Luna who stepped through. She was dressed in Muggle bell-bottom jeans and a wavy brown shirt. Her hair was down and she wore a flower crown of real daisies.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey.”

She embraced him briefly before pulling back and looking into his eyes. She frowned slightly. “I heard what happened. The others aren’t happy with your plan.”

“Fuck what they think.”

She squeezed his shoulders and didn’t pull away. “This matters to you.” When he didn’t reply, she gently cupped his chin and tilted his face to look at her. “Do you really want to go on a trip with Draco?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, just pure questioning.

He was grateful to her for it.

Harry nodded once, a quick motion, and Luna smiled at him. “Then go.”

Harry sighed. “It’s not that easy, Luna.”

“The others will come around if this turns into something,” she said softly, pulling back from him to sit on a couch in the sitting room.

Harry followed her, shaking his head. “I’m not looking for it to…‘turn into something’. I just need a quick trip and he gave me the suggestion to take one so I invited him along. There’s nothing else to it.”

She looked at him curiously and he knew that she was reading his soul.

“But…if it _does_ …turn into something,” she started carefully, “I think it would be wonderful. He’s very handsome and kind, despite what the others say about him.”

“How can you of all people say that? You were tortured in his house!”

She nodded after a moment, tilting her head and not looking at Harry. Her gaze became unfocused, as if she was remembering the time. Harry wondered how she could do that so calmly. When she spoke, her voice was almost cheerful. “I was. It was horrible. But Draco never wanted to hurt me. I saw the pain in him. He was too afraid to defy the others. I don’t blame him.”

“Why not? The others do.”

She reached out and put a soft hand on his knee. “For a similar reason as you. Though, I don’t fancy his chiseled cheekbones like you.”

“What?” Harry spluttered.

Luna laughed lightly before her smile became small and intimate. “Go for it, Harry. I think you’ll feel better if you do.”

He looked into her eyes and felt like she really understood him.

**XXXX**

Harry Potter did not cancel.

Instead, he sent a letter to Malfoy Manor asking Draco where and when they should meet on Friday. Draco ignored his mother’s inquiry about the unusual owl at their window as he opened the letter and read Potter’s message. He penned a quick response and sent the tattered owl on its way, hoping it would be competent enough to find its way back home.

“Draco?”

Draco looked up and met his mother’s curious gaze. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s what your father used to tell me when he got mysterious letters in the middle of the night,” she quipped, draping herself across the chaise in the study. “What’s going on, darling?”

He thought about lying but she would see through him. His mother had a brilliant sense of intuition he largely believed had been mastered during his father’s time as Voldemort’s left hand.

“I have an outing planned for this Friday.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” his mother exclaimed pleasantly. “Who is the lucky pure blood?”

“Mother –”

She laughed softly. It was genuine and breathy and Draco paused at the sound. It had been a while since he had heard it and it caught him off guard. He felt his mouth curl into a smile.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Germany,” he replied swiftly, not seeing a point in changing the pronoun she used. “We’re going to a Quidditch match.”

“Lovely. Make sure you have the house-elves round up some flowers. I didn’t raise my son to not be a true gentleman on a date.”

“It’s not a date,” he insisted but she waved him off. She rose from the chaise and in her elegant nightgown she reminded him of a Muggle movie star he saw on the posters in David’s office. Her hair had been redyed recently and she wore expensive jewelry. Her elegance remained despite the fact that she was getting on in years.

“You need to get out, darling. Let the world see you in your newfound prime. Date, mingle, fall in love – you need and deserve all of these things.” Her gaze softened and it gripped his heart. In her youth she had been rich and content. But, like almost all pure bloods, her way of life had been mangled by the Dark Lord's fall. 

He wished he could hear her laugh more often.

“You’re still so young, Draco,” she continued gently. “Despite everything…you’re young. You have _years_ left in you. I’m glad to see you finally getting out there.” She cupped his cheek briefly before leaving him standing alone in the study.

Draco stood there and tried to keep it together as his heart started beating frantically and he felt his breathing grow short.

He wanted to cry.

He didn’t feel successful. He didn’t feel like someone in ‘newfound prime’. Hearing his mother praise him made him feel unworthy of her words. He had let her down.

He had let everyone down.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Draco turned and made his way to his room, fighting the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. He wouldn't shed them. He wouldn't show weakness. He _couldn't_. Not now. Not after he had started getting back on his feet. As he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, the curious owl arrived and he distracted himself by taking its message and reading it.

**Malfoy,**

**To Glamour or not to Glamour? I know you’ll be able to recognize me regardless but I thought I should ask ahead of time. Especially since you’ll be expecting me this time.**

**-Harry Potter**

Draco wiped his eyes again and reread the message. He had spent a lot of time pondering this exact question. On the one side, being seen with Potter would boost his image and probably hurt Potter’s. The _Prophet_ would definitely have a field day. If Potter Glamoured then Draco would still know it was him but any reporters would probably peg Draco as someone who skipped out on work for a sporting event. He didn't want the extra negative press. 

They both would need to Glamour.

He took in a steadying breath and wrote back to Potter. As he waited for a reply, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and tried to settle his nerves. This was ridiculous. There was no reason to be nervous. If anything, the outing would probably be drab.

The owl flew back in after a bit with Potter’s reply.

**Malfoy,**

**That makes sense.**

**I’m looking forward to it.**

**-Harry Potter**

**XXXXX**

They had agreed to meet outside of Whitehall. Draco leaned against a brick wall with his foot against the wall and his shoulders barely touching the brick. He knew Blaise would have made a quip about him overcompensating and trying to look cool if he was there.

_There’s no need to look cool when it’s not a date._

He resisted the urge to fidget or check the time. He knew he had arrived early. But there weren’t any Aurors around or newspaper reporters. So far so good.

All that was needed now was for Potter to show up.

Draco tapped his foot once. Twice. He was about to give in and check the time when Potter appeared across the street. He was wearing black Muggle jeans that hugged his legs, a pair of lace-up boots, and a navy pullover sweater underneath a leather jacket. He looked…

Cool.

“Since when have you had a sense for fashion?” Draco asked him as he walked up to him. He internally congratulated himself on keeping his voice steady despite his shaking nerves. “If I remember correctly, you needed your Glam Squad to fasten your robes the first four years at Hogwarts.”

Potter smirked at the compliment and something stirred in Draco at the expression. It was the right thing to say to ease the tension. Potter visibly relaxed a bit and Draco appreciated it. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was strangely nervous about this.

Potter hadn’t changed his skin tone this time but he did wear a lighter hair color and no glasses. His eyes weren’t their tell-all green but a soft hazel color. His scar was gone and his nose was slightly thicker in the bridge than normal. He hadn’t changed his build at all. Draco wondered why Potter hadn't worked harder on his Glamour. Every wizard in the U.K. knew his face. If there were any visiting wizards at the match in Germany, they were doomed.

“Fleur spent four and a half weeks at the Burrow,” Potter explained as he stepped up against the wall beside Draco. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to be told that you look like a Pygmy Puff by someone who’s half-Veela?”

Draco felt himself relax a bit at Potter's words. The corner of his lips quirked up and he allowed his eyes to roam over Potter’s face. “She works for some high-end fashion company, yes?”

Potter let his surprise show. “I didn’t think the great Malfoy kept tags on that sort of thing.”

“I don’t. My mother, however, enjoys perusing the latest fashion trends and still dreams of wearing the finest of silks once more. She raves about Delacour's work enough that I’ve had to listen on occasion. She’s one of the few non-pure bloods that mother not-so-secretly admires.” He held out his arm to Potter. “You ready?”

“Ten years in the game and I still hate this part,” Potter quipped as he took Draco’s arm to Apparate. His grip was firm and Draco tried not to pay attention to it. He wasn't a teenager anymore.

**XXXXX**

The stadium was packed. Draco considered it a blessing. With more people surrounding them, there existed a smaller chance of them getting recognized. He had Glamoured his complexion to be tanner and his hair darker so that he wouldn't resemble his father.

He wondered what Potter thought about that.

Despite the fact that they were in a foreign country, Potter took the initiative and flashed their tickets to the security guard before leading Draco through the throng of people to their section. The stands vibrated with the energy of the crowd and it was hypnotizing. The wind whipped through Potter’s hair and Draco wondered if he had spelled it to not get too mangled.

Well, no more than usual, anyway.

Their section was about two-thirds of the way up and showed a clear view of the entire field. While there were people all around them, already cheering madly, Draco didn’t feel crowded. He took in the view of German flags flying proudly on masts at either end of the stadium. It was comforting being back here. He turned to tell Potter as much but was suddenly distracted by the view.

Potter looked entranced. That Gryffindor spirit shined in his eyes as he took everything in. His hands gripped the railing to keep him from…bouncing with excitement? He looked younger. Happier. Carefree. He was grinning widely and the sight completely took Draco off guard. When Potter turned to catch Draco’s gaze, Draco found that he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Potter this…at ease. Wasn’t he worried they would be spotted and recognized? Wasn’t he nervous about this… _outing_? It wasn’t fair that Potter looked so bloody happy when Draco’s insides were doing flips.

He wondered what Potter would have looked like without the Glamour.

**XXXXX**

Harry felt his spirit soar. He had missed this. The chanting of the crowd, the air thick with excitement, the heated expectation of a fantastic game - everything called out to him at once and he felt his senses overwhelmed in a pleasant way. It reminded him of when he used to play at Hogwarts, only with a much larger audience. The fact that he was in a foreign country seemed to heighten everything. He gripped the railing in front of them and fought the urge to explore the stadium. The energy around them was so positive that Harry felt himself smiling before he could really realize it. He had become so used to misery and sadness around him in public areas where people were still recovering from the war. But here, where wizards were shouting things in German with smiles on their faces and surrounded by loved ones...

Well. It was definitely a refreshing experience.

His eyes landed on a small girl, only about four or five years old, about six rows ahead of them who was being lifted by her father onto his shoulders. She was wearing a Harriers' sweatshirt and had her short hair in cute pigtails.

Harry suddenly wished he could have watched a match with his father.

The thought was so surprising that he blinked and turned, instinctively, when he felt a pair of eyes on him.

But it was only Malfoy, looking at him curiously.

**XXXXX**

Potter tilted his head in reply and Draco realized he had been staring. Quickly, he said, “I think this game is narrated in German. Let me know if you need translation.”

Potter’s eyes that had momentarily looked so faraway now sparkled as he replied loudly over the noise of the fans around them, “I think I’ll be able to keep up but I’ll let you know.”

Draco nodded and turned away to look out at the field. He wondered what Potter was thinking about. What had caused that momentary shift in gaze? He glanced at Potter from his peripheral vision and wondered if he had imagined it. He didn't know Potter. Not really. What right did he have to think he knew when the boy's moods changed?

The teams were about to come out and the excitement of the crowd shifted into something even more thunderous. He was suddenly aware of his extremely close proximity to Potter. With fans all around them, there wasn’t much room left between them.

Merlin, what if this _was_ a date?

As the gates opened and the teams flew out onto the field, Draco felt his heartbeat speed up for a different reason besides Potter. He remembered the thrill of flying. The feel of the wind tugging at his robes, the speed of the game, how everything seemed heightened…

He glanced over at Potter - he couldn’t help it - and judged from the Golden Boy’s face that he was similarly reminiscing. His right hand was trembling where it gripped the railing. Draco watched Potter’s eyes immediately land on the Harriers’ Seeker and follow his movements across the field. Draco turned his attention to the Seeker as well and the two of them watched the man fly.

“He’s really good,” Potter said admirably as the Seeker soared.

_So were you_ , Draco instantly thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he licked his lips and pulled his robes tighter against the wind.

_Get a hold of yourself, Draco._

He wasn't sure where the sappiness had come from but it wasn't welcome. Turning his gaze back to the field, he tried to spend the majority of the game watching the match instead of Potter. He _had_ come here to watch the match, after all. It wasn’t his prerogative to watch Potter’s expressions of wonder.

As the match went on, he felt himself getting a bit drunk off of the experience. The crowd’s energy was endless and every time the Harriers scored a goal, the stadium pounded with excitement. Once, when the Harriers scored a particularly impressive goal, Potter let out a holler and Draco couldn't fight the smile. He wondered why he hadn’t looked more into the Harriers as a respectable team before. They were quite talented and worked extremely well as a team.

“This is awesome,” Potter eventually told him after the Harriers had scored another goal. His smile touched his eyes. “I’m glad I thought of it.”

Draco scoffed but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything witty. Potter was right. This experience hadn't yet proved to be as dreadful as Draco had expected. He looked into Potter’s disguised eyes and wished he could see the familiar emerald. “Better than a Chudley Canons game?”

Potter laughed as he shook his head. “I don’t know. They’re pretty close.”

Draco smirked. While his nerves hadn't completely disappeared, he had found himself relaxing beside Potter as the match went on. He could feel Potter's magic pulsating off of him and it was a reassuring hum. Unable to resist, Draco asked, “No regrets for coming, then?”

Potter gave him a curious look and Draco momentarily feared that Potter had just been acting this whole time. But Potter's lips curled up into a smile and Draco detected the faint coloring on Potter's cheeks. Shaking his head once, Potter held his gaze and said, “Not one.”

Draco opened his mouth but just breathed out a little puff of air before smiling. He was relieved.

But he still wasn’t going to classify this as a date.

Instead of replying, he glanced down and noticed that Potter’s trembling had spread from his hand to his torso. Wondering if it was still from excitement or from the cold, he opened his mouth to ask when canons exploded on the field. Draco spun his head down just to see that the Harriers’ Seeker had caught the Snitch. As the crowd went wild, Draco tried to calm down his suddenly racing heart. His right hand had instinctively clutched at the wand hidden in his robes. He took a deep breath as the stands echoed around him. His body had tensed up at the sound of the cannons and he had to think to himself repeatedly that it was because of the Snitch and not an attack.

**XXXX**

When the cannons blared, Harry had a flashback to the World Cup and went for his wand. But before he could unzip his jacket, he realized that it was only because the Seeker had caught the Snitch. There was no Dark Mark in the sky. Death Eaters weren't swarming the stadium. He blinked and took a steadying breath as he slowly realized there was no danger. He turned to make a remark to Malfoy but saw that the boy's Glamoured face had paled considerably. Malfoy's eyes were scanning the stadium as if his life depended on it. He was stiff and still.

Harry's heart felt funny as he realized that Malfoy had had the same reaction as him upon hearing the cannons. In that moment, the crowd faded away into a blurred background of white noise. All Harry focused on was Malfoy's shaky breathing and the fact that he wasn't looking at him.

Harry knew he had to do something.

**XXXXX**

A gentle hand on his wrist caused his head to whip to the side. Potter was giving him his undivided attention. The Golden Boy’s gaze was…understanding. He didn’t say anything but held Draco’s gaze meaningfully.

He watched as Potter unzipped his leather jacket far enough with his free hand to flash the tip of his wand from where it was hidden. Draco looked down at the wand and back up to Potter.

_It’s okay._

_You’re not alone._

As Potter's unspoken message sunk into his brain, Draco breathed in through his nose and gave a curt nod of understanding.

Potter zipped back up against the cold with one hand and rubbed his thumb once, twice against the skin of Draco’s wrist under his robes. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had been touched this gently by someone who wasn't his mother, Pansy, or Blaise. It was a reassuring gesture that sent a funny feeling through him.

Suddenly, he was embarrassed at overreacting at the cannons. He opened his mouth to say as much but Potter gave a light shake of his head. Draco both hated and appreciated the fact that Potter knew.

“If anyone gets it, it’s me.”

The words hit Draco like a bucket of cold water. Potter’s statement, while whispered intimately, summed up Potter’s entire being so simply.

Draco swallowed before giving another short nod. He didn't know what to say. What did you say to someone who shared your PTSD? What did you say to someone who _did_ understand?

The crowds around them had started to disperse from the stands. Potter let go of Draco’s hand and Draco found he missed the physical source of comfort. Telling himself to get over it and focus, he turned away from Potter to survey the crowd dispersing around them. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention.

They waited for a moment in silence before joining the fray and heading out. Around them, people were chatting excitedly about the game and the Harriers’ season in German. Draco caught bits and pieces of it but it was hard to focus around the buzzing in his head. His eyes swept the crowd but he didn’t see any dangers. He was still embarrassed that he had been startled by some cannons but he couldn’t shake his natural instinct to now be on alert. Beside him, Potter didn’t comment and seemed to be analyzing the people around them as well.

Some not-date this was turning out to be.

They made it past the throngs and out to the fields surrounding the stadium. They stood there for a bit, watching people pass and then Apparate to their homes. Draco wondered if Potter would question why they were just seemingly standing around, but he didn't ask. Potter was surveying the exiting spectators just as carefully as Draco was. 

Of course.

Shacklebolt _had_ offered Potter a job as an Auror after all.

A drunk couple stumbled towards them and Draco tensed but the couple Apparated before they got close enough. Soon it was just Potter and Draco standing outside the stadium.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who constantly thinks he’s being followed,” Potter said after a moment to break the silence. He glanced at Draco and smirked. “Luna taught me how to cast spells that can detect when you’re being followed but I still don’t always trust them. Same for you?”

Draco nodded. “That’s what I liked about being out here. My face isn’t known in every household like it is back home.”

“Well, the night is still young,” Potter quipped as he rocked back on his heels.

Draco looked at him. This was the part where Potter was supposed to Apparate home. This was the part where it was all supposed to end and he was supposed to do makeup work tomorrow for the Ministry. This was the part where he went home and thought about the evening before falling into another nightmare-fueled night.

This was the part where the eventful evening was supposed to end.

But instead, Potter seemed in no rush to go home. Casting Draco that curious look, he asked, “Anywhere else you want to journey to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to review if you're liking this so far!! Reviews fuel my fire and help me through it all. Their not-date will continue in the next chapter ;)


	6. Glamour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The not-date continues and our boys find themselves developing Feelings.

During his first year of community service, Draco had been assigned 15 Aurors who traded shifts to watch him. For the second and third year, he only had 10. While they didn’t interact with him much directly, he did overhear them mention a few times about going to a local pub for drinks when their shifts traded. From what he had gathered, the pub was a hole-in-the-wall type of place. But it was quiet, offered safety for its inhabitants, and was owned by a very sweet, wizarding couple. It was also enchanted so that reporters couldn’t get in. Apparently, the couple who owned the pub were very popular romance novelists who didn’t want any extra publicity about them or their patrons.

It sounded like the perfect place to take Potter.

The Aurors had mentioned the pub being somewhere in the local village, so he Apparated there with Potter after the Quidditch match. It took them hardly any time at all to walk the quiet streets of the village until they came across the sleepy pub. Draco glanced at Potter to check if this was okay, but Potter merely nodded in agreement.

Considering it was the night of a Harriers’ victory, Draco thought it would be a lot more crowded. Yet the only occupants were a middle-aged couple that sat in a booth towards the back, holding hands and talking lightly amongst themselves, and three men in construction worker uniforms who sat at the bar watching a football game. The lighting was low but not as terrible as the pubs back in Britain. It was intimate while allowing you to see your menu or your companion. Upon their entry, the bartender nodded to them from across the room. He was a stoutly fellow with a kind smile and a short mustache. His hair was spelled to prevent obvious thinning. Draco returned the nod in greeting and led Potter to the empty billiards tables off to the side of the bar. He felt too wound up to sit at one of the booths. He took off his outer robes and tossed them over a stool, revealing a black button-up shirt and a pair of chic trousers. Rolling up his sleeves, he said, “I’m assuming you play since you were raised by Muggles.”

Potter raised an eyebrow at him. “Actually, I never played until after school.” He removed his leather jacket to reveal the pullover sweater. Draco tried not to let his eyes roam over Potter's figure. Getting out of that abusive home he was raised in had allowed Potter's form to become more natural and healthy. He was no longer a pile of bones.

Potter seemed content with the cozy atmosphere of the pub. Rock music played softly in the background and Draco watched him glance over at the old-fashioned record player in the corner of the pub. “We were celebrating Neville getting hired full-time the first night I played," Potter continued. "I was terrible at it.”

Draco smirked. He let his eyes scan the bar again before turning to Potter and asking, “What are we wagering?”

Potter raised an eyebrow as he took a stick from off the nearby wall. “And the ole Slytherin comes out swinging.” He let the stick stand upright on the floor and tilt back and forth between his hands as he thought about it. “Want to wager drinks?”

“You still a butterbeer fan? Or have you moved on to actual adult beverages?”

Potter genuinely laughed. It seemed to surprise him even as his shoulders shook with the chuckle.

Draco blinked at the sound.

“I’ll take whatever you’re having,” Potter said after his laughter had calmed down. He looked embarrassed. 

Draco's heart skipped a beat at the thought and he nodded in reply before moving to give his order to the bartender. He cast a glance at the construction workers and the couple but they all seemed enamored in their own conversations to pay him or Potter any mind. It was a comforting thought as he perched on a stool. He watched the bartender’s wife deliver a pile of greasy food to the workers and they all hollered cheers of thanks. It made him smile. How many times did they come here after a long week to unwind? How many people did this sleepy pub help comfort after the war? He turned his attention to the bartender and watched the burly man pour him two glasses of Fireball whiskey mixed with diet soda before returning to Potter.

“Whiskey? I would have taken you for a martini snob,” Potter quipped as he took a sip of the drink Draco handed him. He seemed to appreciate the fact that the drink was mixed and not just straight alcohol to fuck him up. Their fingers didn’t touch but the proximity was enough to make Draco extra-aware of their situation. “Isn’t Muggle alcohol kind of a step down for you?” Potter continued to joke as he took another sip. Nodding appreciatively, he gestured for Draco to break and start their game.

“There’s nothing wrong with martinis,” Draco defended good-naturedly as he took a sip of his drink before placing it on a nearby table. His insides were still doing flips but he was determined to look as cool, calm, and collected as Potter did. He grabbed one of the pool sticks from beside the table and leaned down to take the shot. He knew he didn’t have to lean just so over the table, spreading his legs and tensing his shoulders under the thin material of his shirt. And he probably didn’t _need_ to sink three balls on that opening shot. And he probably didn’t _have_ to smirk up at Potter after doing so.

But, seeing Potter’s poorly-concealed expression of awe, Draco knew it was worth it.

Even though this wasn’t a date.

Potter cleared his throat. “Game on."

**XXXX**

Fifteen minutes later, they were nearly tied despite Potter’s previous mention that he was terrible at billiards. While Potter lacked the training, he had a natural skill that he seemed to have with almost any activity he tried. Draco wasn’t sure whether he was impressed or jealous.

Probably both.

“If you’re getting scared, round two can be on me,” Potter smirked, leaning down to eyeball his shot. His chest was parallel with the table and the angle put his backside on full display. He cocked his chin to grin up at Draco. Even though the face was Glamoured, Draco felt himself stunned by the heated expression behind it all the same. “I’d hate to see you lose all your funds in one night.”

“Cockiness has never been a good look for you,” Draco replied quickly even as Potter sank two balls in one shot. Potter gave him his most innocent look and Draco was momentarily transported back to Hogwarts, seeing that same look on Potter’s face many times before.

It caused the breath to leave his body.

“Your turn,” Potter said as he stepped back from the table. His drink was nearly empty and the alcohol had seemed to relax him even further. He wasn't visibly worried about _anything_ in this moment. He had pulled his sleeves up so that his forearms were exposed.

Draco didn’t stare.

Instead, he finished off his drink and circled the table, looking for the best angle. He wasn't about to let Potter's sudden alcohol-induced self-confidence distract him. He had a game to win. Although, this competition with Potter was different than anything they had experienced at school. The stakes weren’t as high and nobody’s life was on the line. Sure, they were still dueling in a way, but it wasn’t as serious as anything from their past. House points weren’t on the line. They didn’t have an audience of their friends and peers. They didn't have teachers to impress or family titles to maintain. For the first time in their adversity, this was just about personal fun. Potter was relaxed and joking and even flirtatious in a way he had never been during school.

Wait.

_Flirtatious_?

From the corner of his eye, he could see Potter watching him like a hawk. Tension flowed in the air between them but it wasn’t negative. Draco let his eyes meet Potter’s for a brief moment and he knew that those eyes were no longer skeptical of him and his actions.

Potter had truly loosened up around him.

Draco looked down at the table and pretended to analyze his potential moves for a moment while his heart thudded violently against his chest. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that this was the moment his ex-Death Eater self would have killed for – a chance to take Potter down. He felt himself scowl at the thought. He didn’t want to be that person anymore.

He wanted to show Potter that the _Chosen One_ could relax around him now.

Draco breathed in steadily through his nose. Potter wasn't flirting with him. There was no way.

Draco took the shot.

And won the game.

Whistling lowly, Potter gave him his best golf clap. “Congratulations. You’ve won this time.”

Draco blinked and cleared the dark thoughts from his mind. He leaned his stick against the table and refocused on Potter. The boy was smirking and his eyes were shining with mirth. Draco moved around the table until he was standing less than a foot away from Potter. “As always, you are an admirable opponent.”

“Think I should add that to my resume?” Potter asked. His smile was freer, less restrained like it was in public surrounded by people. “‘Admirable opponent’ listed under my special talents…?”

Even though both of their drinks were now empty, Draco didn’t doubt that Potter’s reflexes would prove catlike if they were suddenly attacked. Underestimating Potter was not something he practiced often.

“Well, sources say that you _are_ in need of a new enemy to spend the next seven years trying to destroy,” Draco quipped. He didn't focus on the fact that his voice had lowered to a more intimate volume. He didn't focus on how lovely Potter's odd chuckle sounded at his words. He didn't focus on the fact that he wanted Potter to be someone else. _Anyone_ else. With anyone else, he could lean in, and…

And…

Draco cleared his throat and stepped away from Potter to give himself more space. With anyone else, it would be easier. Less complicated. But as it was, he was Draco Malfoy and the man before him was Harry Potter and nothing was ever easy for either of them. The realization sobered Draco up considerably and he felt himself closing off to Potter as the old Malfoy started seeping in.

Potter seemed to recognize the shift in Draco. “I didn’t mean –” he started but Draco shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he lied quickly, knowing what Potter thought he was upset about. Only, it _was_ that. And so much more. “I’m just trying to think of what to order next that isn’t a snobby martini.” He didn't want to end the night like this. He didn't want it to end at all.

Potter's eyes still looked uneasy. “It’s my round to buy, anyway,” he reminded Draco. “Let me pick something?”

Draco nodded and was grateful when Potter walked away to the bar, leaving him alone to breathe for a moment in peace without a pair of Glamoured eyes watching him.

_This is ridiculous. Get a hold of yourself. Enjoy the night while it lasts. Stop brooding._

When Potter returned with two glasses of an orange-ish liquid, he didn’t wait to ask what it was before taking a swig. Blinking rapidly at the taste, he asked what it was.

“Fuzzy navel,” Potter replied, taking a seat on a bar stool by the billiards table. “You haven’t had one before?”

“I don’t recall being a teenage girl,” Draco quipped but he couldn’t deny that the drink was delicious.

Potter’s smirk returned and some of the tension from before ebbed in the air between them. Draco took a seat beside him and watched as Potter’s eyes roamed across the bar.

“It’s nice, being here,” he began before taking another swig. “I didn’t expect it to be so…empty.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “I’m not sure if it usually is this empty or not but I agree about it being pleasant.” He explained about why reporters were barred from entering and Potter’s eyes widened.

“I wonder what they’ve written.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow before he could stop it. “I didn’t know books had become a thing for you to enjoy…well, other than writing them.”

“I’m definitely not as avid a reader as Luna or ‘Mione,” Potter agreed, “but I do enjoy the occasional story or two.”

“My, how you’ve changed.”

Potter met his eyes with an easy smile and Draco felt that pounding in his chest appear again.

“I guess in some ways. Not having a steady career has forced me to find multiple sources of entertainment.” Potter cupped his hands around his drink and let the coolness of it chill him as he said, “Thank you for bringing me somewhere without reporters. You didn’t have to.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek before replying. He didn’t like the genuine tremble of gratitude in Potter’s voice. He didn’t like imaging that any of Potter’s dates would take him anywhere other than a place with no reporters.

Not that this was a date.

“It’s nothing,” he replied softly. Not being able to handle the sudden swell of emotion in Potter’s eyes, he broke eye contact and looked instead at the construction workers. “I didn’t want to be around them either.”

“Is it weird for you? Being back in Germany, I mean.”

Draco noticed that Potter’s voice had lowered, perhaps to provide more privacy to their conversation. He appreciated it. “Not really. I mean, it’s not as uncomfortable as I had thought it would be. It’s nice being able to wander freely without Aurors trailing me. And the company has proven to be rather pleasant this time around.” Draco made the mistake of looking into Potter’s eyes and found the Boy Who Lived already looking at him.

Draco didn’t want to look away.

He watched as the lightest of blushes touched Potter’s cheeks as he smiled softly. Potter's reaction gave him hope.

Well. That certainly wouldn't do.

Draco asked as a distraction, “What about you? Are you glad you got to get away from everything for an evening?”

Potter nodded and took another drink before replying, “Definitely. Thanks for this, by the way. I never would have thought of it without you.”

They sat there in silence for a bit, finishing their drinks and enjoying the quiet stillness of the bar. The middle-aged couple had gone home while they were playing billiards and the construction workers were slowly beginning to gather their stuff and head home.

“Thank _you_ , actually,” Draco mumbled. He didn't want to see Potter's questioning gaze. He wanted just to plow through the words before he lost his nerve. Or his mind. “For asking me to come along. For…I don’t know. _Wanting_ me to come along. This didn’t go at all how I expected and I’m pleased about it.” He took another drink.

“Same,” Potter whispered back. He looked into his nearly empty drink before throwing back the rest of it.

Draco absolutely did _not_ watch the way Potter's throat worked down the liquid.

After putting his empty glass down, Potter stood up and gestured to their clothing on the stools beside them. It was nearly four in the morning and the pub would probably be closing soon. “Want to head out?”

Draco nodded and they put on their robes and jackets. After they paid for the drinks, he debated for a minute whether or not they would Disapparate to their individual houses. But Potter made that decision for him by reaching for his arm and nodding at Draco to take out his wand. Potter’s grip on his arm was as steady at it had been when their not-date had first started.

**XXXX**

When they appeared back by the brick wall they had met at, Potter didn’t remove his hand from Draco’s arm.

“Before I came here, Luna gave me some advice,” he started slowly. He wasn't looking at Draco. “She told me just to see what happened. I’m glad she told me that. We should do this again, if you want.” He briefly squeezed before letting go.

Draco’s throat felt constricted. He knew he couldn’t ask Potter what he wanted to. He couldn’t ask him if this  _had_ been a date or to drop the Glamour or if Potter wanted this to be a date. He couldn’t ask –

“I’d like that,” Draco said instead, even though the little voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him to shut up. He cleared his throat and looked away from Potter. “I guess Lovegood’s not as loony as people say.”

They stood there for a moment, awkwardly not saying anything. Draco licked his lips and as he started to ask, “Did you –” Potter’s eyes met his. He had dropped the Glamour enough to reveal those familiar emerald orbs.

Draco's question died on his lips at the sight.

Potter hadn’t used his wand. He hadn’t whispered a spell. He had performed wand-less magic to drop the Glamour enough so that Draco could see his eyes. His _real_ eyes. Those eyes that gripped Draco’s attention and held him rooted to his spot by the wall.

Draco, too stunned to speak, gazed into Potter's familiar eyes and felt the blood drain from his head. He wasn’t sure if the alcohol was to blame or not, but that single display of Potter’s magical abilities and prowess had Draco’s heart pounding in his chest. How had Potter known? How had he known what Draco wanted? Had he used Legilimency? Surely not. No. Potter wanted him to understand that he was being truthful. That was it. Right?

“I had a really nice time,” Potter repeated softly while his eyes bore into Draco’s. “We should do this again.”

_I don’t want to be Glamoured._

_I don’t want you to be._

_I want to see you._

_The_ real _you._

_I want to go out with you._

_I don't want us to be us._

“I agree,” Draco said instead of what he was thinking. He knew his voice had trembled but he couldn’t say anything witty or cunning to make up for it.

Potter’s eyes were far too distracting at four in the morning after two strong drinks.

The Chosen One nodded, smiled to Draco, and then stepped back to Disapparate back to Grimmauld Place.

Draco stood there for a long moment just breathing in the stillness of the street, trying to wrap his slightly-tipsy mind around the anomaly that was Harry Potter.

**XXXX**

Harry’s mind was reeling as Apparated back at Grimmauld Place. He knew he had pushed his luck when he dropped the Glamour on his eyes but damn if it hadn’t been worth it. Malfoy had looked at him with such a sense of hunger and longing that Harry felt goose bumps break out over his skin. He knew he had been pushing his luck. He _knew_ it.

But damn it all to Merlin if Malfoy wasn’t suddenly worth more than Harry had given him credit for.

“So?” a quiet voice asked and Harry jumped as he went for his wand. The voice whispered _Lumos_ before he could attack and Harry looked at a smiling, patient Luna sitting on his couch.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pocketed his wand and asked, “Luna, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

She closed the book that she had been reading and looked at him expectantly. “I wanted to make sure you got home safely. Well, it’s more like the others were worried about you, but I knew you would be alright. I promised them I would come over and check on you. Did you have a nice time?”

Harry's already-spinning mind took a tumble. “I don’t need them all in my business. Especially not if they still think –”

“Harry,” she interrupted quietly. She patted the open space on the couch beside her and Harry took off his jacket before flopping down beside her. He didn’t meet her eyes as she asked again, “How did it go?”

“Promise you won’t report back to the others.”

“I won’t give them any details. I’ll just tell them you’re alive and that they never should have worried.”

"You know, it's creepy seeing you here unannounced."

"That's never stopped me from coming over before."

He looked into her eyes for a moment before letting out an unsteady breath. He wasn’t happy with the nosiness of his friends but he knew that if he didn’t give them anything, Ron and Hermione would probably barge in before they went to work. And he _really_ didn’t want to have to deal with that. If anything, he figured he should be happy that patient, understanding, kind Luna was the one they had sent. “It was…awesome. Really.”

Her smile grew and he kind of hated her for it. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“You were right, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed but she was trying not to laugh.

He untied his boots before slumping against the couch. “How long have you been here?”

“Only about an hour or so. Kreacher was sweet enough to make me tea.”

“What would you have done if we had gone back to his place? Or come back here with a different intention?”

She gave him a sly look that was absolutely _not_ supposed to appear on the sweet face of Luna Lovegood. “On the first date, Harry? Quite scandalous.”

He blushed with a laugh as he dropped the rest of the Glamour. He couldn't believe anyone had ever pegged her as naive.

She was still looking at him expectantly.

“The match was really cool,” he continued after an awkward pause. Suddenly, Harry was glad he had someone to talk to about the evening – someone who wasn’t judgmental. “The Harriers won. It was a really impressive match. Then we went to a pub and played billiards. Had a few drinks, talked a bit. It was nice. The pub we went to had spelled out reporters so I didn’t have to worry about that.”

“That was very considerate of Draco.”

Harry nodded. “I was surprised when he told me. I was surprised about a lot of things.”

“Like how handsome his cheekbones are?”

Harry gave her a look and Luna laughed.

“I’m glad you had a nice time,” she said earnestly. “You both needed it."

He considered telling her the truth. "Luna..."

She shook her head, seeing right through him. "You don't have to say it if you're not ready to. I'm not going to push."

He looked into her eyes. "He's really...different than he was. Or maybe he's the same but kinder. I don't know. I just..."

She waited.

"I think..." Harry let out a frustrated huff and put his head in his hands. "He's really different."

She put a comforting hand on his leg. "He really is handsome," she reminded him softly.

"Tell me about it."

Laughing, she pulled him into a sideways hug before standing. "I’ll leave you alone now that I can tell Ginny you’re not dead like her brothers feared.”

“Make sure Hermione knows. I don’t need the squad showing up to badger me while I sleep off a potential hangover.”

“I’m really happy for you, Harry,” she said before Disapparating back to the apartment she shared with Ginny.

Harry looked into the unlit fireplace of the living room for a few minutes before he pulled himself to his feet and traveled up the staircase to his bedroom. Kreacher appeared along the way and asked him if he needed anything. "Two glasses of water. Thanks, Kreach." When he entered his room, he removed the pullover sweater and undid his tight jeans. Briefly, he remembered how it had taken him almost half an hour to decide on an outfit for the evening. Smiling, he flopped into bed in nothing but a pair of loose boxers. Kreacher appeared and placed the water on his nightstand before disappearing once more. Harry burrowed himself under his bed covers. Thoughts of Malfoy were rattling his tipsy brain and he couldn’t get that smirk out of his mind.

He wondered if Malfoy thought it was a date.

He wondered if Malfoy had _wanted_ it to be a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who has been reviewing this fic so far <3 your kind words keep me going and give me the encouragement I need. Much love <3


	7. Responsibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm posting this chapter a few days in advance because I know that I'll be going away for a week with not much access to Word and I didn't want to leave all of you hanging. A huge thank you for your kind reviews!!! I love and appreciate every single one of them.
> 
> Just as a heads up, this chapter does touch upon the loss of Hedwig and how Harry still blames himself for her death. So if you're grieving the loss of a pet, the end section of this chapter after the final "XXXX" break might be a bit much for you. Feel free to skip it, if so. The rest of the chapter before that final scene doesn't touch upon it though.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

When Draco returned to the Manor after his not-date, he found a letter from his father waiting for him on a table in the hall. He thought about not reading it and ruining the after-high he felt from his time shared with Potter, but he knew he had responsibilities to the family name.

**Draco,**

**Make sure you are keeping up with payments due on the Manor. Your mother tells me that you have been renovating it. I expect it to look spotless.**

**Your mother and I believe it is time that you start searching for someone to produce an heir with. It goes without saying that our bloodline must continue. Your mother believes the best solution is to host a ball at the Manor. A mingling with fellow pure-bloods will demonstrate your newfound status and promote your traits. You are much older than I was when I married and it is now time for you to demonstrate your maturity.**

The letter was unsigned.

Draco took out his wand and lit the letter on fire. He dropped it over a large ashtray and watched it burn. He wasn’t surprised by his father’s words but he was annoyed that the pressure was starting to mount on him finding a pure-blood girl to settle down with. He had just gotten his life on track by landing a job with the Ministry! Couldn’t his father let him take things one step at a time? No, of course not. That wasn’t the Malfoy way. That wasn’t the _pure-blood_ way.

His mother’s knowledge that he had gone on an outing tonight was no coincidence with the timing of his father’s letter. It didn’t matter that Draco had a preference for men. He was expected to marry a pure-blood lady and start popping out heirs left and right.

“Master Malfoy. Do you require anything?”

“No,” he sighed to one of the Manor’s house-elves as he watched the flames lick at the post. “Thank you, though.” He knew the house-elf – Steela? Steeba? – was watching him as he turned away from the small fire and slunk down the hall to his bedroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. This night had proven to be far more exhausting than Draco had mentally prepared for. Between his father’s persistent reminder about _duty_ and _expectation_ and Potter’s un-Glamoured eyes, Draco wondered if dropping off the face of the Earth wasn’t a sensible plan.

When he reached his room, he removed his outer robes and started to unbutton his black shirt when he caught side of Aquila snoozing in the corner of his room. He wandered over to her and gently caressed her feathers in greeting.

“I had a great time tonight,” he told her softly. She wouldn’t judge him or remind him about his duty to be a heterosexual pure-blood. “And…it’s rather daunting.” His face heated up as he remembered Potter’s grip on his arm. And his wandless display of magic. And the sound of his laugh. And his un-Glamoured eyes. “Damn it all,” he muttered to the sleeping owl.

**XXXX**

He was dreaming.

A gentle hand ghosted across his wrist as the faint sound of cannons echoed in the background. Draco turned, sluggishly, but he didn’t see anyone behind him. The space around him was void of anything other than darkness. What he couldn’t see, he felt. A warm chest suddenly brushing against his back, a pair of lips leaning down to caress against his neck, and a second hand encircling his other wrist, holding him gently in place. Draco leaned back into the comforting touch. He felt a sigh whoosh across his skin, disturbing the hair on his neck. The pair of lips moved down to his collarbone. Draco tilted his head, giving the apparition more space to work with. He felt a hardness against his backside and the grip on his wrists tightened.

“Potter,” he sighed out. His voice sounded garbled, as if he was speaking underwater.

The lips against his skin quirked into what he presumed was a smile before a tongue poked out to lap at his collarbone.

Draco knew he was shivering with want. He wanted to turn and capture those lips against his own. He wanted…he wanted –

The hand on his left wrist slid up his bare forearm, brushing over his Dark Mark.

A surge of pain swept through Draco, causing him to cry out in alarm as his Dark Mark stung as if it was burning him alive. He tried pulling away from the figure but the grip on his forearm wouldn’t let up as it seared against his Dark Mark. Potter’s touch was killing him.

Draco found himself screaming Potter’s name as he woke up.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his mind of the dream. He looked down at his forearm but the Dark Mark remained quiet where it always was. He wasn’t surprised to see that he had grabbed for his wand in his sleep. It happened often enough. His darkened bedroom was empty except for him and Aquila. Slowly, Draco took in a shaky breath and let it out. He hated the fact that his brain had to ruin such a pleasant evening. He hated his father’s charred letter in the hall. He hated the pressure of it all.

A sudden, startling presence made Draco turn sharply, ready to fend off attackers, but it was only a gentle, proud, white stag standing beside his bed.

Draco stared at the Patronus for a long moment.

Its calm, clear eyes gazed back at him. Opening its mouth, he heard Potter’s voice come out from the stag.

“Your Patronus appeared in my room. Are you alright?”

Draco blinked again. He had cast his Patronus in his sleep? He glanced down at his wand. That had never happened before. Or, at least, not in several years. Why had he cast it? It had only been a nightmare. He had had plenty of nightmares over the years since the war ended.

Draco was instantly mortified. He didn’t want to think about why he subconsciously reached out to Potter in his sleep.

“Fine,” he told Potter’s stag shakily. His voice was hoarse as if he had been screaming.

Had he been?

He looked back at the Patronus. “Tell him…fuck.” What would Potter think of him? Calling out for help because of a stupid dream. Some head of the household he was.

Draco thumbed his Dark Mark as he thought about it. He could just leave it at that – tell Potter he was fine and call it a night. But Potter would want more of an explanation. And they _had_ already established that they both had nightmares.

He summoned the time and saw that it was well past time for breakfast. The curtains on his bedroom windows remained closed. Usually Draco only managed about four or five hours of sleep a night until the house-elves brought him breakfast. Considering he had been out late, though, he figured his mother had asked them to hold off on drawing the curtains and waking him.

Potter’s Patronus was still waiting patiently.

“Tell him I’m sorry for disturbing him. It was just a nightmare.” His face bloomed with color from the embarrassment of it all. How _weak_ Potter would think him. “Tell him that I enjoyed his company last night and I’ll write him later.” He wasn’t sure why he added that last bit. His mind was reeling – he felt his hands shaking and buried them in the covers to try and stop the attack from happening. He was getting lost in his own thoughts again.

Potter’s Patronus gave a short bow before prancing out of the room through the window and disappearing into the night.

He would need to enchant his bedroom to prevent his Patronus from traveling again while he slept. Merlin save him if he had to face another embarrassment like that or if _reporters_ found out. Merlin, this could have been bad.

Draco threw the covers off of himself and made his way into the shower adjoined to his bedroom. _Might as well face the day_ , he thought grimly to himself, knowing that the minute he stepped out from his room, his mother would be on him about planning the ball. He turned on the water and shed his clothes. A shower would help calm him. He would rinse off the sweat and forget about his dream. As he lathered his hair, he felt more than saw the presence of Potter’s Patronus again. His skin prickled against the sensation of being waited for by someone while he was naked. He quickly rinsed out his eyes before turning and seeing the stag’s outline through the shower door. Blushing faintly, he opened the door a crack so that he could look out and hear Potter’s voice come from the stag.

“I am here for you.”

**XXXX**

“Did you hear the news?”

Harry looked at Hermione over the rim of his coffee cup. “What news?”

“Malfoy’s hosting a ball at the Manor next week. Everyone at work is talking about it.”

Harry blinked in surprise. Two days had passed since his not-date with Malfoy and he hadn’t heard anything from the man since the Patronus Incident. Malfoy had said he’d write but he hadn’t sent anything to Harry.

“A what?”

“A ball. You didn’t know?”

“No? Why would I?”

She gave him a curious look.

It had taken two days for Harry to get up the nerve to tell Ron and Hermione about his pleasant not-date and how he had enjoyed his evening with Malfoy. It…hadn’t gone the way his conversation with Luna had, but they _had_ said they were both happy that he was getting out there and trying to find happiness, which Harry considered a _huge_ start.

_“Just don’t tell me the dirty stuff you lot get up to,” Ron had sighed in defeat. “I still think he’s a lying, conniving buggar who’s gonna try to kill you somehow.”_

“The people at work think it’s a Death Eater reunion,” Hermione explained to Harry. “A bunch of Aurors and Shacklebolt himself are going. They got invited. I guess Malfoy wants to stop any rumors.”

“Did all pure-bloods get invited to this…ball?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “It’s Malfoy. You honestly think he would invite the Weasleys? I know you think he’s apparently turned over a new leaf, but…”

Harry frowned and took another sip without looking at her. “Well, it’s probably more his mother’s doing than his anyway. He hates crowds. And reporters.”

“And reporters,” she parroted, looking at him curiously again. “But both the _Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_ have been invited. So he can’t hate them that much.”

“Malfoy invited Luna?” Harry asked carefully.

She nodded. “I was surprised, too.”

“Should I ask him about the ball?”

She shrugged and cast a furtive glance around the café where they were having lunch. “I would advise you to ask Luna first. I haven’t had the chance to ask her about it yet.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione. Will do.”

**XXXX**

“Can you believe he invited Luna and not me?” Ginny remarked in fake outrage. “I feel rejected! I’m pretty, aren’t I, Luna? I’m certainly the prettiest Weasley spawn.”

“You’re the prettiest Weasley spawn,” Luna assured her, leaning over to kiss her cheek briefly before returning to her task in the kitchen. They had invited Harry over for dinner and to gossip about Malfoy’s party. While he was usually skeptical of Luna’s cooking, it appeared she was getting better at it. At least nothing had caught fire tonight.

Well, so far, anyway.

“Yeah, but _why_ did he invite you? Other pure-bloods don’t exactly have the highest view of the _Quibbler_ or your family…no offense.”

“None taken,” Luna replied lightly. “We’re happy being blood traitors. I think it’s his showing of good faith between the two of us. This will be the first time I’ve been in the same room with him since the trials.”

“It just seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, then.”

“Not really,” Luna said. “We’ve corresponded a couple times since then through post. He wrote to me while he was in Germany. We get along far better now than when we were all children in school.”

“He did?” Harry asked, stomach plummeting slightly.

“Oh, Harry, don’t be like that. Ginny and I have been together all this time! Why would I stray when I have her?”

Ginny blushed at that and smiled something grand. Luna smiled back at her and they shared a tender moment.

“Are you okay with going back there, though? To the Manor, I mean.”

Ginny frowned at Harry’s question but Luna nodded quickly.

“Of course. Draco will be there and he _has_ changed, after all. And his mother’s not as awful anymore as people make her out to be. A bit snobbish and condescending, but I think she would show kindness if it was required.”

Luna stood up to finish working on dinner and Ginny leaned in closer to Harry. “I don’t think she should go,” she muttered under her breath so that only Harry could hear her. “I don’t think she realizes how…rough it’s going to be going back there.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Luna replied cheerfully as if she had been part of the conversation. “And I’ll have Harry to go with me.”

“Me?” he spluttered.

“Of course. Although the event is clearly a mingling event for Draco to find a lady, it’s not restricted to female attendees. That would look terribly sexist, even for a pure-blood family like the Malfoys. Men are welcome to come too, so long as they understand that Draco has first dibs of any and all ladies there.”

“Wait…what do you mean ‘find a lady’?” Harry asked, connecting Luna’s explanation to Ginny’s earlier remark about being pretty.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “It’s a stupid pure-blood thing that my family was sensible enough to shirk. The eldest pure-blood male is expected to get married and produce heirs to keep the bloodline going. If he’s infertile then the expectation gets passed down onto the second-born and so on and so forth. But since Draco’s the only spawn that his parents produced, the pressure is doubled. It’s atrocious, really.”

“I’m glad your parents approve of the partner you naturally found and chose,” Luna chirped happily as she leaned in to kiss Ginny’s cheek again.

“Wait. But. Wait. So…Malfoy’s getting married?” Harry asked, trying to wrap his head around the concept.

“He will eventually,” Luna said. “Though, I hope he manages to find a way to break away from his family and find love in his own time. I would imagine it would be difficult to marry a lady and produce a child given his preferences.”

“Preferences?

“Honestly, Harry! You can be so dense at times.”

“Malfoy’s gay?” Harry asked, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He had hoped there would be a chance. He had hoped –

“He hasn’t had any public dates since the trials, so it’s difficult for people to pin. I think he tries to keep his dating life under wraps because of his parents and his status.”

“How do you know all this?” Ginny asked her.

“He told me when we were in the Manor together. He used to bring me dinner when it was given to me and we got to talking. I think he had to get it off his chest. He and Pansy weren’t working out and everything had mounted to something painful. It wasn’t like he had any friends he could talk to about it. And if the _Prophet_ had caught a glimpse of him on a date, it would have been front page news. I don’t remember seeing any article like that, do either of you?”

Ginny and Harry were silent as they shook their heads.

Luna started dishing out the food and Ginny and Harry rose to help her. Once they were all seated, Harry remembered the earlier turning point in the conversation. “Wait. You said that you wouldn’t be alone because I’d be at the party with you. But I haven’t been invited.”

“Haven’t you?” Luna asked in that cryptic voice of hers.

Ginny guided the conversation to another topic but Harry’s mind reeled for the rest of the evening. He wondered if Malfoy had spoken to Luna about him.

**XXXX**

It wasn’t until the following day that he found a letter waiting for him. He had been out when Aquila had dropped it off. Picking it up, Harry examined the elegant font for a moment before reading the contents:

**Potter,**

**As you’ve probably heard from your minions, I, or, I should say, my mother is hosting a gala of sorts at the Manor next week. Her and Father think that it is time I find a pure-blood to settle down with and start having children with so that the Manor can have an heir. The entire thing is mortifying and I am not looking forward to the act I will have to put on for not only prominent families in the wizarding community, but for reporters as well. The whole thing is probably going to be a proper mess. Plus, I have to pretend to be interested in women, which, for me, is a very difficult thing to have to pretend. (Try to hide your shock. I am telling you this because I like to imagine I can trust you.)**

**I would not request that you come because I know how much you despise being in the limelight. I completely understand. This party will be a disaster and the anxiety of planning it all is rather off-putting. I can assure you that Malfoy Humiliation will be in no short supply. If you wanted to witness the embarrassment of it all, and think you can tolerate reporters for an evening, consider this your formal invitation.**

**I understand if you do not wish to attend. You are under no obligation. Personally, I wish I could get out of it myself. Mother would be over the moon to hear you’re coming…as I’m sure most of the reporters would be, too.**

**Not to sweeten the deal any more than it clearly needs, but Luna Lovegood already RSVP-ed. Despite Mother’s protests, I’ve invited Luna as a representative of the _Quibbler_. I still think the paper is utter hogwash, as does most of the wizarding world, but I appreciate Lovegood’s presence for reasons of my own and anyone who complains can stick it. So you wouldn’t be completely separated from your Glam Squad if you decided to come. Which you are under no obligation to do.**

**-D.M.**

Harry found himself smiling and then reread the letter twice before thinking about it. He _did_ hate reporters. And seeing Malfoy most assuredly fake-flirting with tons of ladies was probably going to make him sick. But Luna was going. He still wasn’t sure _why_ but she was. He knew the Malfoys. He knew Narcissa and Draco’s father would never approve of him marrying her so there was no way she was a viable candidate for Malfoy to marry even if she was single.

And he _did_ want to see Malfoy again. Especially if the bloke was about to get married off and Harry lost all hope of spending more not-dates with him. It was a dismal thought and Harry had to sit down. He wanted to milk time with Malfoy for all it was worth. But was that really fair to him _or_ Malfoy? Harry figured it didn’t really matter if Malfoy wasn’t interested. Or, worse, if Malfoy was just toying with him.

No. But that couldn’t be possible.

Malfoy wasn’t like that.

Anymore.

As Harry thumbed the letter, he noticed a small P.S. at the bottom that he hadn’t noticed earlier.

**P.S. I promise the party will be Patronus-free.**

Despite the turmoil of emotions raging through him, Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. Malfoy probably hadn’t written to him earlier because he had been embarrassed after all. His suspicions confirmed, Harry bit his lip. What should he say in reply? He grabbed a quill and penned a short response. It wasn’t a yes or a no but it was something to start with.

**Malfoy,**

**Won’t my presence take all of the attention away from you? Surely your mother wouldn’t be on board with that.**

**-Harry Potter**

He wrote the letter but then realized he didn’t know the spell to summon Aquila and have her deliver it for him. Without an owl of his own, Harry realized that he was kind of out of luck. He didn’t want to send his Patronus for something simple like this. And he needed to stop asking Luna and Ron to borrow their owls.

He needed to stop being such a recluse.

Sighing, he pocketed the letter he wrote and made his way to Diagon Alley.

**XXXX**

“How can I help you, sir?”

“I need to buy a new owl,” Harry told the man behind the counter. He had Glamoured himself to avoid any additional attention.

“Certainly. Do you have a preference for a type?”

Harry looked around the store. His eyes landed on a Snowy towards the back.

He felt that familiar pain in his chest.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

“I…” he cleared his throat and tried again but no words came.

_This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I’m not ready._

The man seemed to understand and procured a box of tissues. He looked to be around his early thirties. Well-built with a kind face, the man seemed to know love and loss. “It’s always hard finding a new pet after the loss of a beloved. But getting a new one doesn’t erase your memories of the old one. In some cases, finding a new friend can help strengthen the bond you had with your old one.”

Harry nodded, taking a tissue silently. While the handsome store clerk had a point, most pets died of old age or sickness. Not…

Harry took a breath and looked again at the owls around him. _Keep it together._ He needed a new owl out of necessity. They were faster than Muggle post, more reliable, and harder to intercept.

A part of him hoped she would understand.

“Can I look around?”

“Certainly, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

Harry managed a brief smile for the man before he moved away from the counter to inspect the available owls at Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shop was noticeably dark to take into account the nocturnal nature of its inhabitants. He allowed his eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting before he began wandering. He knew he didn’t want a Snowy. It was too close to home and…he just couldn’t.

He walked around, letting the occasional owl sniff at his fingers, reminding himself that he needed to be here, until he came across a Barred Owl. Its all-brown eyes stared back at him curiously as he looked at it. The owl was alert but calm. It didn’t nip at him the way some of the others did. Instead, it stood patiently in its cage as if waiting for something.

In a funny way, it reminded him of an old soul.

“Ah, that’s a funky one,” the man behind the counter told him from across the small store. “Lil Miss Hootia. She’s been with us for a while because of her stumpy leg. We can’t integrate her into the wild completely because her leg risks infection if it’s not medicated frequently. She can fly just fine, though. She just needs extra loving and care.”

_Don’t we all?_ Harry pondered as he looked into Hootia’s eyes.

She looked back steadily.

“Can I try to hold her?”

“Sure. More power to you for trying,” the worker replied as he cast a spell to make sure the doors wouldn’t open while her cage was open. “She hardly lets anyone hold her, though. So don’t take it personally if she’s standoffish.”

Harry opened the cage slowly and held out his arm to her. When she didn’t move, he found the courage to whisper, “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But…I’d like to…if you’d let me.”

She didn’t move.

“I know, I’m not as impressive in person,” he joked as he adjusted his stance. He felt rather ridiculous, talking to a strange owl that didn’t know him in the middle of a store on the most popular wizarding street in London. “I’m not very impressive at all. But I’m in need of a new owl to deliver letters. My last one, she…um…” he glanced up at the clerk but the man had busied himself with stocking shelves far away from Harry. He cleared his throat and tried again. “She…died...rather tragically, in fact.” He let out a humorless laugh. “It was my fault, you know. I should have secured her better or sent her ahead of us or…” his voice thickened and he took a breath. He hadn’t talked about her in a long time to another person. “She…she was killed a few years ago. I still miss her dearly. She was always there for me…even when it felt like nobody else was.” Hootia’s eye contact was reassuring and he continued, “I can’t promise that it won’t be dangerous. People are always trying to intercept my letters. It’s a hassle and it sounds like you’ve already been through a lot, so I get it if…if you don’t…um…” Harry’s breathing started to get uneven. He went to lower his arm and close the cage in defeat when Hootia took a tentative step towards him. Just that simple motion was enough to cause Harry to tear up. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve her. It had been his fault. It was his fault that he didn’t have an owl.

“Her name was Hedwig,” he whispered to the owl. He knew he had started crying but he couldn’t hold back the tears. “Hedwig.”

When Hootia hopped the few inches forward to press her head gently against his arm, Harry openly wept in the middle of Eeylops. He didn’t feel he deserved to be forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter is 90% written, I just have to touch it up in a week or so and then it should be posted after I return from my vacation. Please review though! They feed my soul!


	8. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vacation! This chapter is over 10,000 words so....yeah...

Malfoy was getting sick of pure-bloods.

Over the past few days, he had barely gotten any rest from the countless letters his mother thrust into his hands for him to read and respond to. It seemed like every pure-blood in the wizarding world that had been invited was excited to attend his family’s ball.

It was all a bunch of hogwash.

Everyone knew that the majority of pure-bloods were still Dark Lord sympathizers and bitter towards the Malfoys for not killing Harry Potter or Dumbledore when they had the chance. Draco couldn’t wait for his house to be full of people that would sneer at him and try to mock him behind his back but shake his hand and smile to his face.

It was a miserable thought.

He hadn’t gotten any rest at work either with Quina constantly asking him questions about who would be attending and what kind of food there was going to be and if she should wear her best dancing shoes or not. Draco had been surprised to discover that she was a pure-blood through the Flint family tree and was therefore invited by his mother to attend the ball. He thought he had known everyone’s family tree.

Apparently not.

“Oh, but I do love parties,” she confessed to him for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day. “Everyone always looks so lovely.”

“Right as they’re about to murder you.”

“Oh, Draco, don’t be like that. It will be a pleasant evening catching up with everyone. And Shacklebolt has RSVP-ed so nobody would dare do anything stupid with the Minister of Magic in attendance.”

“I never hated being an only child when I was younger,” he complained. “Now I would give my left foot to have an older brother deal with all this attention.”

Quina reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You worry too much, Draco.”

“Funny. I thought I worried just the right amount for an ex-Death Eater.”

She laughed. “You’re the absolute worst, you know that? _I’m_ looking forward to the party. Plus, your mom will be there and she’s lovely. I always thought so. Like one of those movie stars on the posters in David’s office.”

Draco let his head drop into his hands.

**XXXX**

He had barely been home for an hour before an owl tapped at the window to his study. Draco was also sick of owls. Over the past few days, the Manor had received over a hundred birds and Draco was getting rather tired of the countless feathers and droppings that he had to instruct the house-elves to clean up. Rising from his desk, he crossed over to let the unfamiliar bird in. It fluttered to his desk and stared at him cautiously. Just being grateful that it wasn’t from his father or some other irritating soul, he tore open the letter offered to him and read:

**Malfoy,**

**Won’t my presence take all of the attention away from you? Surely your mother wouldn’t be on board with that.**

**-Harry Potter**

**P.S. I bought a new owl. This is Hootia. Be kind to her. She’s been through a lot.**

Draco looked up at the owl in front of him. “You must be Hootia.”

The owl tilted her head at him and he smiled, unable to help himself. Potter was working towards recovery. Draco guessed that Potter's going out and getting a new owl probably hadn’t been easy for him.

“It’s a pleasure.”

Hootia chirped at him in reply.

Draco looked back down at Potter’s letter. The Chosen One was a conundrum. In the back of his mind, Draco knew that he was developing something of a fancy for the Boy Who Lived, what with Potter’s handsome smile and calming demeanor and _understanding_ towards everything. But his dreams at night were harsh reminders of how different they were from one another. Despite Potter’s kind and reassuring words, they _had_ been on different sides in the war. They couldn’t find happiness together. Potter deserved some heroic snot like a Weasley, not an ex-Death Eater. By crushing on Potter, Draco knew that he was setting himself up for heartache and disappointment.

He was a Slytherin, a pure-blood, and a _Malfoy_.

There was no way that he and Potter could ever be anything serious.

**XXXX**

The cute clerk from Eyelops’ had informed Harry that it would probably take Hootia a bit to warm up to the new environment.

_“I live alone,” he had told her when he brought her home to Grimmauld Place. “Well, I have a house-elf and family portraits that sometimes talk to me. But you shouldn’t have to worry about anything. I get how it takes a while for those words to sink in…if they ever do.” He had gingerly reached out to apply the ointment to her leg. She had hopped away from him and hooted at him. “I know, I know, it stings a bit. But you need this stuff to heal. Sometimes the muck that hurts actually helps.”_

_She had seemed to glare at him for a moment before reluctantly reaching her stubby leg out for him to apply the cream on._

Grinning at the memory, Harry watched as she flew through his window and landed on his bed after her trip to Malfoy’s. He gave her some treats from the tin. “I’m glad I have someone to give these to besides my friends’ owls.”

Her eyes landed on the tin and he chuckled.

“That’s all for now. I don’t want to spoil you too much or you’ll get used to it.”

She gave him a look as if to ask, ‘ _And what’s wrong with that?’_ before fluttering over to the perch by his window.

Taking Malfoy’s reply letter from the bed where Hootia had dropped it, he read:

**Potter,**

**Mother wouldn’t see you as a spotlight stealer in a negative way. If anything, your presence would help boost our association. But, considering the Manor will be full of supposedly ex-Death Eaters, I can understand your not wanting to show up. I just thought I would extend the invitation out of courtesy.**

**Hootia is very sweet. I can understand why she picked you.**

**-D.M.**

Hootia looked tired so Harry decided not to send out his reply letter tonight. But he did write it in advance, since he had already spent many long hours thinking about his decision and what he wanted to say.

**Malfoy,**

**What makes you think she picked me and not the other way around?**

**Yes, a mansion full of supposedly ex-Death Eaters is not exactly how I would prefer to spend my Saturday night. I’d much rather be at a pub in Germany. But if Luna’s going then I’m going too. Perhaps we could meet for lunch to talk it over?**

**-Harry Potter**

**XXXX**

After some more back and forth correspondence, they decided to meet for lunch two days later. Draco wasn’t really sure _why_ they were meeting in person. As far as he knew, there wasn’t anything he wanted to say in person to Potter that he hadn’t said or couldn’t say in a letter. There wasn’t a point in telling Potter how he thought the Chosen One’s eyes were beautiful or how lovely his laugh sounded or how Draco admired his quick wit and snark. The upcoming gala was designed for Draco to meet an eligible _bachelorette_. Potter didn’t fit into that equation. But he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see Potter. And they _had_ agreed on their not-date that they both wanted to hang out again. Maybe Potter wanted to see him.

No.

Potter couldn’t feel the same way.

But then why show up un-Glamoured?

“Did you hear? Harry Potter’s in the Ministry!”

Draco blinked as he looked up at Quina’s excited face. “And that matters because…?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come off it. Even you have to admit he’s handsome. I think David keeps a poster of him in his bedroom. I wouldn’t put it past him. I wish I had one.”

Letting the remark roll off his shoulders, Draco flicked extra ink off his quill. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Don’t you recognize an opportunity when it’s handed to you? Honestly, Draco! Harry Potter is in the building, flaunting that glorious arse of his, and you’re going to stay holed up in here?”

“I’m not some devoted, obsessed, delusional follower of his.”

“No, but you have a pair of eyes. And his arse is _amazing_. C’mon, we’re all going to try and catch a glimpse. You should come with us!”

“You’re all ridiculous,” Draco replied, nodding pointedly to a couple of his coworkers who hustled by his office on their way to scout out Potter. “And you shouldn't objectify him. This is why he never leaves his house.”

“And how would you know that?”

Crud.

“It’s just unnatural to go gawking after him,” he defended quickly. “He’s a human being, not some prized Hippogriff.”

Apparently Draco didn’t need to go after Potter because the Boy Who Lived came right to his office.

Despite the sudden pounding of his heart, Draco kept his gaze completely neutral as a very un-Glamoured Harry Potter knocked on his office door before stepping inside. Potter was dressed rather informally in just a pair of faded jeans, a leather jacket, and a t-shirt with a Muggle band’s logo on it. He closed the door behind him and turned to Quina first as she was closest to the door.

“Oh. Sorry to disturb. I’m –”

“Oh, I know who you are, sir. What can the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes help you with today?”

Draco tried not to smirk. This was too good. Serves Quina right for being so annoying about his party. “I told you I wouldn’t be at lunch because I had a meeting.”

Quina blinked and turned her stare from Potter to Draco. Slowly, realization dawned on her and her jaw dropped open. “You git! You didn’t tell me it was with bloody _Harry Potter_!”

Potter looked embarrassed and Draco felt the smirk overtake his features. “You never asked who my lunch meeting was with. Can you please ask the massive unit outside to get back to work before Shacklebolt comes down here and has a fit?”

Quina looked torn between throwing something at him and laughing. “You bloody bastard. Fine, but you owe me one! You two play nice!” She gave them a wink before slipping out the door and shooing at the crowd outside.

Draco waited until the crowd had mostly dispersed before he fixed his gaze on Potter and took in the man’s appearance.

His familiar black hair was just as messy as Draco remembered it. That famous scar taunted him from underneath Potter’s bangs. Those ugly glasses. Those damn lips. That build…

Draco’s eyes slowly dragged up Potter’s body to meet those emerald eyes.

Thankfully, Potter seemed unsure of himself as he reached out blindly for a chair in front of Draco’s desk and sat down somewhat clumsily. He looked out of place and it sent an odd wave of confidence through Draco. This was his office. His territory. He had control. It didn’t matter that Potter was un-Glamoured. It didn’t matter that this was Potter’s second time in his office. It didn’t matter that the last time he had seen Potter completely un-Glamoured in person had been at his trial. It didn’t matter that, despite his apparent nervousness, Potter looked like a walking wet dream –

“I should really compliment your staff,” Potter began and oh, that voice with his un-Glamoured eyes had no business making Draco’s insides tingle like _that_. He was trying to _distance_ himself from this absurd crush, not give in to Potter’s awkward charm and allure. “They’re all very astute and…focused on their work.”

Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch and he hated it. He hated how Potter could make him smile while being so handsome and understanding and _reassuring_ and – “It’s not every day that a celebrity walks among them.”

“ _You’re_ not a celebrity?” Potter asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I would have thought they’d be playing 20 Questions with you on a daily basis.”

“This might be something of a novelty to you, but the majority of the people in this department _do_ have work to complete and they have a very stringent work ethic…at least when Chosen Ones aren’t walking among them.”

Potter half-smiled and looked away from Draco and out one of the glass walls of the office. He was quiet for a moment before he announced rather loudly, “I’m here to formally accept your invitation.” His eyes drifted back to find Draco’s. “I would love to visit the Manor again. How is your mother doing?”

Draco blinked. His eyes widened briefly as he suddenly realized what Potter was doing and why Potter had wanted to meet with him in person. Potter _wanted_ to be heard. He _wanted_ people to know that he was going to be at Draco’s party. _That’s_ why he came to the Ministry of Magic un-Glamoured. _That’s_ why Potter wasn’t disturbed by the onlookers who were poorly hiding themselves behind the bookshelves outside of the office while they listened in.

Draco was momentarily floored.

_Why_ would Potter do this? It was idiotic! Sure, the Minister of Magic and a bunch of Aurors would be at the party, but Potter was publicly agreeing to enter a space full of people he couldn’t stand. Did he _want_ to have a panic attack? Did he still _have_ panic attacks? Potter had said in the letter that he was going because Lovegood was but that didn’t seem a good enough reason to deal with all of the nonsense that was sure to push Potter’s buttons.

Licking his lips quickly, Draco replied calmly, “Ah. I see. Thank you for letting me know. We look forward to having you.” His eyes searched Potter’s but he couldn’t find the answers to any of his questions. He had told Potter not to come. He had told him that he was better off staying at Grimmauld Place the night of his party. Why had he agreed to come? Why was he doing this? “I can tell you more at lunch if you’re ready.”

Potter nodded and gestured for Draco to lead the way.

**XXXX**

The departure from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was something of a spectacle. Coworkers stopped and openly gawked as Draco led Potter out of the Ministry of Magic. He was given a one hour lunch break and looked forward to taking full advantage of his free time with Potter. Once outside, Draco led them to an alley where he could Apparate them to Draco’s favorite coffee shop. It was a quaint place on the very edge of London. Leading Potter inside the shop, Draco sat them at a booth near the back of the café. A few of the wizards who chose to enter the Muggle establishment stared in surprise at the odd pair. Luckily, none of them approached Draco or Potter. They only turned in their seats and stared from afar.

At least _some_ people in the world respected personal space.

After they gave their orders to the waiter that popped by, Draco took a second to just _look_ at Potter. His hair looked extra dark, as if he had showered just before appearing at the Ministry. He looked tired. Draco wondered how many hours of sleep Potter managed to get a night. Then he reminded himself that it didn’t matter. What should he care?

“My mother is very well,” Draco continued in answer to Potter’s earlier question in his office. “She is very excited for the ball.”

“Excited to parade you around, no doubt,” Potter clarified for him. “Apparently you’ve been restoring the Manor?”

Draco nodded. “It doesn’t look like a dungeon anymore.” He waited for Potter to make some snide remark but it didn’t come. “Fixed the fountain, trimmed all the hedges, and brought in fresh animals to liven up the grounds. And that was just in a weekend.” When Potter _still_ didn’t make some snarky comment, Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Nothing?”

“Well, I always did think the peacocks were a bit much.”

Draco smirked, relieved.

**XXXX**

Their food arrived and they dug in eagerly. The food here was always delicious and rather cheap considering it was on the outskirts of London. Draco glanced around and saw that most of the familiar wizards and witches occupying the café when they had entered had reluctantly left to get back to their jobs. Most people didn’t have ten or eleven hour shifts like Draco.

After a bit, Potter asked, “Is this weird for you? My being un-Glamoured, I mean.”

“We were classmates for almost seven full years. I’m pretty sure I know what you look like.” Draco was _not_ about to cave and let Potter know the truth. He couldn’t. He had responsibilities that required him to put on a front. He couldn’t just come right out and tell Potter that his being un-Glamoured _was_ distracting.

They continued eating until Draco broke the silence. “Why are you coming to my ball?” It came out harsher than he wanted it to and he resisted the urge to flinch at his own words.

**XXXX**

Harry bit into his sandwich again and chewed thoughtfully as he looked at Malfoy. The potions-master’s robes were impeccable except for a brush of powder on Malfoy’s collar and a smudge on his neck. Harry wanted to reach out and run his finger across it.

“I don’t want Luna to go alone.”

“Isn’t she dating the Weasel girl?”

“ _Weasley_. And yes, she is, but I could never let Ginny deal with that many self-righteous pure-bloods at once. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Besides, Luna somehow knew that you’d invite me and suggested that I take her.”

“I…may have asked her if she thought it would be wise to invite you.”

Harry felt an eyebrow quirk. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

Malfoy grimaced at the word. “I wouldn’t go that far. I have merely found her advice comforting when it comes to elements of a personal nature.”

“Like whether or not to invite me?”

Malfoy took another sip of his coffee and didn’t answer.

**XXXX**

When Draco spoke again, he redirected with, “So that’s the reason, then? You don’t want to feed poor Lovegood to the wolves?”

“Something like that.”

Draco was quiet as he considered Potter.

_Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t. Ask. Don’t –_

“Is that the only reason?”

_Fuck._

Draco held his breath. He had taken the plunge and now all he could do was wait to see how Potter responded.

Surprisingly, the Chosen One sighed. He sounded a little exasperated as he asked, “What are you fishing for, Malfoy? Because I thought we had agreed that we wanted to spend more time together.”

“What?”

Potter huffed and leaned back in his seat, regarding Draco warily. He didn’t say anything more on the subject.

Needing clarification, Draco slowly asked, “You’re willing to deal with reporters and ex-Death Eaters because you want to see me?”

“It’s not just about you, you obnoxious prick. I’m doing this for Luna.”

“Mostly.”

“What?”

“You’re _mostly_ doing this for Lovegood.”

Potter frowned at Draco, as if daring him to make something out of it.

Draco felt that familiar pounding in his chest. Did it mean something that Potter wanted to attend Draco’s party, where he would be most assuredly uncomfortable, just to see Draco? “We could see each other for more lunches like this one. You don’t have to –”

“Can I ask you something?”

Draco blinked at the interruption but replied quickly, “Of course.”

“Why did your Patronus come to me that night? Of anyone in this world…why me?”

Draco considered not telling him the truth. He hadn’t told him the reason when the incident happened. He hadn’t told Potter…“My nightmares often feature you.”

Potter met his eyes.

Captivated by the emerald he found there, Draco swallowed and asked, “How did you know it was my Patronus? As far as I know, you’ve never seen me produce it before.”

“I haven’t.”

“So how did you…?”

Potter’s eyes fell downcast as he poked at a couple of chips. “I knew as soon as I felt its presence. I was reading when it…well…um…” He cleared his throat. “I knew it was yours.”

“How?”

Potter wouldn’t look at him. “I know what your scream sounds like.”

A chill went through Draco. _Of course._ He resisted the urge to touch his Dark Mark or check his scars. It took him a moment to compose himself. When he spoke, there was a small tremble in his voice that he hated. “I shouldn’t have sent it.”

“I’m glad you did.” At the sight of Draco’s frown, Potter modified, “I’m not happy that you had to send it or that you sent it subconsciously, but…it was nice that you knew you could reach out to me…even if you were asleep. You _can_ reach out, if you ever need it again. And if being at your party helps take away some of the attention focused on you then I’m willing to do that too.”

Potter resumed eating but Draco just looked down at his food blankly. His appetite had disappeared. If he was being honest with himself, he felt a little nauseous. He didn’t understand Potter. “But why? I’m not one of your friends. I don’t understand why you’re doing…all of this. I’m hosting this ball to willingly _gain_ attention to make Mother happy. You have never once asked for the level of attention that you get on a day-to-day basis. Why…?”

“Which is why I understand how much you actually hate having to do this.”

Draco felt himself losing control. Of the conversation, of his choices, of the way he felt around the _Prophet_ ’s beloved. “Potter…”

“We’re both not the people we were in school,” Potter cut in quickly. “I know you can’t deal with crowds or attention the way you used to. I know you actually hate any attention, even if it seems promising or positive. I’m not saying this is something that can happen overnight. But it starts with a desire for mutual trust and I want you to know that the next time you wake up scared and afraid, you can write me, send your Patronus, hell, show up at Grimmauld Place! I _like_ hanging out with you, Malfoy. Even if you are a pain in the arse. We should be able to be friends now.”

_Friends._

_Friends?_

**XXXX**

Fuck.

He hadn’t meant to say _friends_. But Harry wasn’t sure what Malfoy wanted. He should just ask him. Just come right out and say, ‘Hey, I fancy you. And if it’s alright with you, I would like to see you more. I know that you’re going to get married off to some chick soon, but I want to spend more intimate time with you before that happens.’ This was the perfect time for it. He had already implied it. Why not say it outright?

Harry looked into Malfoy’s eyes and waited. When Malfoy didn’t respond right away, or show any reaction to Harry’s words, Harry looked away from him. He suddenly felt embarrassed. What if that wasn’t what Malfoy wanted? Harry didn't want to risk ruining things with the blond. He had spent the last two days thinking about Malfoy’s party and while it _would_ suck being around people, Harry wanted to go and show his support for Malfoy. They had something here. And while Harry wasn’t sure what name to give it, he knew he didn’t want to fuck it up. He wanted to show Malfoy that he was willing to make an effort.

He wanted Malfoy to know that he wanted to be there for him.

**XXXX**

Draco processed Potter’s words. It wasn’t easy for him to trust anyone, let alone Potter, but he wanted to. Boy, did he want to. And his mother kept implying that he needed more friends. If Potter wanted to call it _friendship_ then that could work just fine for Draco. He could do friendship. He knew how…

Didn’t he?

“I’m glad that you understand how…‘opening up’ has never been my strong suit,” Draco started off slowly. “I am not opposed to working on a…friendship with you.” He knew the word sounded funny in his mouth but there was no other way to word it. He could feel his face coloring. It would’ve been easier just to tell Potter he wanted them to fuck than to say he wanted to be _friends_. The word was so foreign. So intimate. Fucking could be quick and easy. Maybe that was what Draco wanted. A quick romp in the sack to get Potter out of his system. But as his eyes raked over Potter’s face, he knew deep down that one roll in the hay wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t want _just_ that from Harry Potter.

He wanted more.

“Just know that, come the night of my party, if you don’t want to come, I’ll understand. I meant it when I said that you’re not obligated to come.”

“I know,” Potter replied, unaware of how maddeningly Draco’s heart was pounding. He looked relieved. “But I can’t miss out on the amazing food I’m sure you’re going to have there.”

Draco didn’t smile. “I still don’t understand _why_ you’re doing this or _why_ you want us to be friends.”

“Are all Slytherins naturally this suspicious or is it just you?”

“Potter –”

“I know. But hey…at least we’re not trying to kill each other. That’s a start, right?”

**XXXX**

Harry stood outside the Manor, past the wrought iron gates, not bothering to fight the memories that hounded him as he gazed upon the walls of the mansion. Hermione’s screaming echoed faintly in his mind like a forgotten nightmare. But Bellatrix was dead. Voldemort was dead. With Draco as its master, the Manor was no longer a place of torture and cruelty. But it was damn difficult to force his feet to move forward.

He felt Luna take his hand reassuringly. “It will be alright,” she whispered to him.

Harry wasn’t so sure. He wondered if it was too late for him to back out and return home.

It felt odd, being out in public un-Glamoured. There was no one to greet them outside the Manor; they had arrived late and all of the guests were inside. Harry felt naked without the protection of a Glamour.

Luna turned to face him. “Harry?”

He couldn’t move. The front doors of the Manor stood only a few feet in front of them, teasing Harry with everything that was no longer behind them. He wouldn’t find Voldemort inside. He wouldn’t find a screaming, bleeding Hermione inside. She was safe with Ron. She was far away from the Manor.

This was no longer a building of torture and cruelty.

“Harry?”

He met her eyes. Clearing his throat, he muttered, “Fearless Gryffindor spirit, right?”

She smiled at him. “It will be okay. I know it’s hard, taking these first few steps. But it will be fine. Plus, think of how handsome Draco will look.”

_That’s what worries me._

As they entered the mansion, Harry noticed that the Manor had been transformed over the years. The dark, dismal aesthetic had been replaced by shimmering candles, polished stone, brilliant rugs, and fresh paint that rejuvenated the Manor. A chandelier that hadn’t been there before hung above their heads to greet them upon entry. The curtains and drapes had all been changed and the moving portraits of some of the more colorful members of the Malfoy lineage had been removed. There was an air of change and hope throughout the refurbished halls that had Luna squeezing Harry’s arm. They walked side-by-side, fashionably late, down the long entrance hall. The sound of classical music led them to where the party was happening. A house-elf stood by a set of unfamiliar doors, ready to announce the pair.

“Um, hello,” Harry began somewhat awkwardly. He could hear Hermione’s nagging voice in the back of his mind, telling him that house-elves should be freed. “I’m –”

“Seelba knows who you are, sir,” the house-elf said quickly. His voice was not as high-pitched as Harry had expected it to be. It wasn’t high-pitched like – “Seelba knows of the famous Harry Potter,” the house-elf cut into Harry’s line of thinking. “The portraits spit at your name but not Master Malfoy. Master Malfoy admires Sir Potter. Master Malfoy keeps a copy of Sir Potter’s book on his personal shelf in his room.” Seelba’s face twisted in horror. “Seelba should not have told Sir Potter that. Master Malfoy will not be pleased.”

“It’s okay. I won’t tell him. Um, thank you for telling me, Seelba,” Harry replied, his face coloring. Malfoy kept his book?

The house-elf gave a great bow of gratitude. His face nearly touched the ground. He rose and looked at Luna. “You must be Lady Lovegood. Seelba loves watching the moving pictures in your paper. Seelba thinks Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are quite funny!”

Luna, who wasn’t used to people genuinely complimenting her father’s paper, blushed lightly at the praise. “Thank you, Master Seelba. Your words are very kind.”

Seelba looked accosted that she had referred to him with a title, but he wasn’t about to correct a guest. Giving another low bow, he turned away from them to push open the great doors of the ballroom and announce in a voice projected by magic, “Announcing Sir Harry Potter of Grimmauld Place and Lady Luna Lovegood of the _Quibbler_.”

Harry was immediately shocked by the amount of people there. Around 150, he recognized the faces of ex-Death Eaters who had escaped imprisonment like Draco and Mrs. Malfoy had, current Aurors dressed in their signature robes, and old classmates and colleagues from Hogwarts whose faces he had forgotten with the passage of time. There were many foreign guests he didn't recognize but who he gathered had attended Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. He spotted Blaise Zabini among the crowd and watched, a bit mortified, as Blaise winked at him from across the room rather haughtily.

Luna tugged on his arm and Harry was dragged out of his reverie. They entered the ballroom, Harry’s eyes scanning the room all the while. Shacklebolt was standing stiffly beside the recently-polished grand piano with at least three Aurors flanking him. The odd girl from the Ministry who worked with Malfoy waved at them from nearby the snack table. A flurry of familiar blond caught his eye and Harry turned to watch as Malfoy emerged from the crowd with Mrs. Malfoy on his arm. His robes were immaculate. Deep purples with black stitching, he stood out among his guests, a symbol of power and strength.

Similarly, Mrs. Malfoy wore a violet gown with a high neckline and long, black sleeves made from lace. The fabric trailed slightly behind her as she and her son glided over to greet them. Her hair was down and curled elegantly. She reminded Harry of a queen from some fantasy book, not a woman lost to the insanity of her husband and the frivolities of status.  Standing before Harry, she looked so much younger between her fancy attire and her job as a hostess than she had ever looked.

Harry found himself bowing to her out of politeness and to get a break from seeing two pairs of Malfoy eyes upon him.

The room had quieted down to a soft murmur as guests witnessed the Malfoys’ greeting. Even the enchanted instruments seemed to play softer.

Harry only rose from his bow when she spoke to him.

“Harry Potter,” Mrs. Malfoy greeted as if they were old friends.

Normally, he would have greeted any other mother figure in his life with a hug, but since this was Mrs. Malfoy and Harry had a strained relationship with her, he figured a gesture of respect and formality was called for. Therefore, when she held out her hand to him, he kissed the back of it rather awkwardly. He knew he was blushing. Mrs. Malfoy seemed pleasantly surprised that Harry had developed decent manners over the years, but she tried not to let it show on her pristine face. She then turned to Luna, not wanting to appear rude, and Harry watched in awe as Luna instantly swept into a low curtsy, briefly pressing Narcissa’s hand to her forehead in the process.

“Luna Lovegood,” Mrs. Malfoy addressed softly and somewhat unsurely. When Harry glanced at her eyes, he saw that she looked almost…sad. “Thank you both for coming. I hope you enjoy your time here and find merriment this evening.”

**“From the depths of our souls, we thank you for inviting us and offering us this opportunity to witness your home in its newfound glory,”** Luna replied in a foreign language.

Harry, who didn’t understand a word Luna had just said, struggled to keep his jaw from unhinging. A shocked whisper passed throughout the crowd. But cultured Mrs. Malfoy must have understood whatever Luna had said because she smiled genuinely at Luna before turning to her son. For the first time since the Malfoys had approached, Harry allowed his gaze to meet Malfoy’s.

Unlike Narcissa and Harry, Malfoy didn’t look surprised at all upon hearing Luna speak the unfamiliar language. He was smirking at Luna as if they shared some secret. The arrogant git’s hair had been cut and pushed back in an almost militaristic style. Around his neck he wore an emerald pendant on a silver chain that contrasted his dark robes nicely. A signet ring on his right hand caught the light and brought Harry’s gaze down to it briefly. Harry fought the nausea that swept through him at the sight of it. He reminded himself that this was all for show. He knew Malfoy wasn’t like that anymore. Malfoy was no longer a follower of Voldemort's.

“You both remember my son, of course,” Mrs. Malfoy remarked. “Draco has done a marvelous job restoring the Manor and planning this gala. We are all very proud of him.”

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see a few of the ex-Death Eaters shift on their feet. Not _everyone_ was proud of Malfoy.

The blond nodded in acknowledgement of his mother’s praise and held out his hand to Luna first. “Thank you for coming,” he told them both lowly.

Harry warmed at the low pitch of Malfoy’s voice. It was obviously forced but damn it all if Malfoy hadn’t been raised to be a charmer. He watched as Malfoy took Luna’s hand and raised it to his lips with much more grace than Harry had managed. Malfoy even kept his eyes locked with Luna’s as he kissed her knuckles.

The nerve!

Luna’s grin was polite as she greeted, “Hello, Draco. Everything looks beautiful.”

“Indeed,” he replied with a pointed smile that made Harry want to punch that self-confident smirk off his face. Even if all this flirting was just for show, there was no reason why Malfoy had to be so _good_ at it. Malfoy turned to Harry then and held out his hand.

Harry was briefly transported to their first encounter when Malfoy had suggested they be friends. Being reminded of the transformation Harry knew Malfoy had gone through helped relax him as he reached out and took Malfoy’s hand in his for a firm shake. They weren't first years at Hogwarts any more. Malfoy’s hand was wonderfully warm and soft and Harry let go first before he could start blushing like a maiden at that initial form of physical contact. _Get a hold of yourself_ , he thought.

“I do hope I’m correct in assuming your dance abilities have improved as much as your fashion sense has,” Malfoy ribbed him, keeping his eyes on Harry’s face.

Harry heard Narcissa _tsk_ but he forced himself to smile as he replied, “Well, if not, then I’m sure you could provide me with the proper instruction.”

He had only been kidding. Harry had no idea about dance etiquette at proper pure-blood parties. Whenever the Weasleys had a shindig, everyone danced with everyone, gender be damned. But Harry wasn’t sure how the Malfoys did it. What if he had just insulted the host?

But Malfoy didn’t look aghast. He simply smirked at Harry and bowed to each of them in turn. “Enjoy the party,” he told them before steering his mother gracefully away to join the rest of their guests.

Aware that eyes were still upon them, and would be for the rest of the evening, Luna didn’t say anything to Harry but merely gave him a knowing smile as they also moved to join the crowd. After that, the tension started to ebb as Harry and Luna were forced to mingle. First, Harry spent some time catching up with Shacklebolt. Next, the quirky girl from Malfoy’s department properly introduced herself to each of them. (Harry noticed the blush on her face when Luna said it was nice to meet her.) Then, just as Luna and Harry were about to bombard the snack table, Blaise Zabini cornered them.

“I hear the most delicious news,” he whispered to Harry from behind the rim of his wine glass. “Apparently you’ve wormed your way into the heart of the Pure-blood Prince himself.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry replied calmly, despite the fact that his blood had started to churn. Had Malfoy told Blaise about their not-date?

“Oh, he didn’t have to tell me,” Blaise replied to Harry’s unasked question. “I know when Draco has a fancy. He stops writing me as often and likes to hide those pretty blushes.”

Harry glanced over at him, about to wonder if Blaise saw him as competition, when he noticed Blaise’s smile. It wasn’t that signature smirk of condescension. It was genuine and kind and rather unnerving on the face of a Zabini.

“I truly hope it works out,” Blaise whispered to him softly. “Draco needs someone monogamous who understands the war…who understands _him_.”

“You do know that this party is meant to set him up with a pure-blood _girl_ , right?” Harry asked him, not bothering to deny Blaise’s assumption.

Blaise shrugged nonchalantly. “My mother was married seven times and had affairs throughout. Marriage has no other purpose than to elevate status and make someone richer.”

“Will you never marry?” Luna asked him, chiming into the conversation.

Blaise looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. He frowned a bit and Harry remembered how he had been prejudiced towards blood traitors like Malfoy had been. “Perhaps,” he replied mysteriously and finished his drink in one go. Giving a brief nod to each of them, he turned and left before Luna could ask him any more questions.

**XXXX**

“What do you think of the Manor?”

“What do you think of the party?”

“How are you and Draco getting on?”

“Is Luna Lovegood your date?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Any progress on finding a career?”

“When is the next book coming out?”

“What have you been up to since the book’s publication?”

The questions came at him so fast that Harry scrounged to answer just one of them. The reporters had decided to gang up on him all at once after he had finished making his rounds with the people he knew. _Like sharks attracted to the smell of blood_ , he thought to himself as he looked at each of their eager faces in turn. They were almost all from the _Prophet_.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone, although I’m not sure if that’s anyone’s business except my own,” he decided to start with. “Luna is one of my closest friends and when we found out that we were both invited, we decided to arrive together. We’re not involved,” he clarified, looking around for the woman in question. Luna had wandered off to sample more of the free food and Harry couldn’t really blame her for abandoning him to fend off the reporters alone. The food really _was_ delicious, after all. “The Manor looks lovely,” he continued, ignoring the floating quills that took down every word he said. At least the reporters were finally giving him a chance to talk. “The Malfoys have really done a great job restoring their home.” From across the room, Harry spotted Mrs. Malfoy dancing with some man he didn’t know and saw her smiling. He wondered if she had smiled often before marrying Malfoy’s father.

“Do you have any thoughts on who might be a good match for Draco?” a young, female reporter chirped up at him, not waiting for him to finish answering the other questions. (So much for the virtue of patience.) “Everyone is taking bets on which witch he’ll choose.”

“Um,” Harry stumbled, wishing the ground would suddenly swallow him whole at the irony of the question. “I’m sure he’ll find someone…” he struggled to find the correct word. “Suitable.”

“Suitable indeed,” a smooth voice purred from behind him.

Harry glanced behind him and ignored the flashing cameras of the reporters as the impassive figure of Draco Malfoy walked up to stand beside him. He _really_ wanted the ground to rise up and swallow him.

Facing the reporters, Malfoy smiled at them. “I thank you all for coming and covering my party. I assure you that I have met many beautiful people here tonight and am truly thankful to my parents for suggesting the idea in the first place. I hope that you enjoy yourselves and I will be available for questions later on in the evening.” Giving them a bow, Malfoy took Harry by the elbow and steered them just as gracefully away as he had steered his mother away earlier.

“You’re a lot better with them than I am.”

“That’s because you have a very large sign on your forehead that says, ‘Fuck off’” Malfoy muttered back as he led them to an empty table near the back of the ballroom.

The majority of the guests were on the dance floor and Harry wondered if this was supposed to be his moment to breathe. While dealing with the reporters had been tiresome, and he couldn’t get the vicious glares of ex-Death Eaters out of his mind, Harry found that being here wasn’t as unnerving as he had expected it to be. Granted, that was probably because he didn’t have any traumatic memories associated with this ballroom. As long as the party stayed restricted to this room, Harry figured he would be okay. Or, at least, he hoped that would be the case.

“I didn’t think you would come,” Malfoy whispered, settling into a chair beside the table. “But you’ve been here for well over an hour and no ex-Death Eater has killed you yet. I consider that a personal victory.”

“Yet,” Harry pointed out. 

“They’re afraid of you, you know. A teenager defeated their lord and savior. Despite their scary exteriors, they’re all worried you’re going to cast a Killing Curse on them at any moment.”

“I might if they don’t continue to leave me alone.”

Malfoy took a sip of his drink to hide his smile. “Not only have you successfully stolen almost all of the attention from me, but the level of pandering I have had to complete since your arrival has been relatively low. So I really must thank you.” He glanced at Harry for a brief moment before returning his attention to his guests on the dance floor.

“Well…I do hate pandering.”

“I was surprised you ended up coming un-Glamoured. You said you would but…”

“Shacklebolt would’ve recognized me in a heartbeat. As well as a dozen other people here. Besides, I didn’t feel like going against my word.”

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“So…have you found anyone…‘suitable’?” Harry asked after a moment, taking a swig of wine as a distraction.

Malfoy didn’t reply audibly. Instead, he just gave Harry a look that said, ‘ _Please. As if.’_ Malfoy uncrossed his legs and leaned further back in his chair. “I’ll probably wind up marrying someone from Beauxbatons,” he said after a moment. “Or someone from a foreign country. We’ve certainly had enough dignitaries here tonight for me to introduce myself to and make connections through. I bet the engagement requests will come pouring in within the week's end.”

“Pure-blood, of course,” Harry remarked. He felt that jovial mood start to slip.

“Of course.”

They looked out at Malfoy’s guests until Harry couldn’t take the not looking anymore and turned his attention fully onto Malfoy. His eyes traced the guarded face, the prim posture, the perfect clothes, the elegant necklace, and the shining ring. He felt the question slip from his lips before he could really think twice about it. “So you’re really going to be married soon?”

Malfoy turned his attention to Potter. His grey eyes pierced Harry’s. “You told the reporters that you’re unattached.”

“I am.”

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow and Harry steadily returned the gaze.

The unspoken question lingered in the air between them for a moment before Malfoy stood first, offering his arm to Harry. “I believe I offered you a dance.”

“Won’t your mother be scandalized? Two men dancing together?”

Malfoy gave him a funny smile. “While it’s sweet of you to care, I can assure you that prominent, male pure-bloods often dance with male partners. Especially when one is the host.”

Harry waited half a breath, expecting Malfoy to admit he was kidding, but the pure-blood git just stood there, holding out his arm to Harry expectantly.

_This is a test. It has to be._

But Harry _wanted_ to go for it.

And if Malfoy didn’t think it would be an issue with the image he was trying to uphold…

Harry tentatively took Malfoy’s arm and moved with him onto the dance floor. _To hell with it all. If Malfoy’s going to be married soon then let’s dance tonight._ He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and wondered, mortified, if Malfoy could hear it as well. Surely he must be able to. Focusing on nothing but Malfoy, Harry saw his dance partner smiling confidently as they crossed the floor. Harry sent a silent prayer of thanks to Charlie for teaching him simple dances in Romania. While McGonagall had been a good teacher of Transformation, her dance lessons had left Harry somewhat scarred from fourth year. Charlie had been much more informal, joking with Harry and even groping him teasingly here and there to make him laugh and relax. Malfoy was nothing like Charlie, though. He was confident, poised, and a model of self-assurance with every movement.

Harry knew this was going to be a terrible endeavor.

“Shall I lead?” Malfoy asked him softly.

Curse those damn, all-knowing, grey eyes.

Harry, for lack of having anything else to do, reached out and put one hand on Malfoy’s shoulder and the other hand in Malfoy’s. He felt ridiculous. But the way Malfoy’s gaze softened at the movement gave him a little bit of hope. “I’ll try to keep up,” he replied, not meeting Malfoy’s eyes.

Malfoy let out a little puff of air that could have been mistaken for a laugh. It tickled Harry’s face as Malfoy stepped closer to him. Malfoy’s fingers slipped between Harry’s thumb and pointer finger as his thumb went on the outside of Harry’s. His free arm wrapped around Harry’s waist, holding Harry close, almost chest to chest.

They hadn’t been this close since their escape from the Room of Requirement. They hadn’t been this close since Malfoy had held onto Harry for dear life on that fateful broomstick ride. A flashing memory of Crabbe’s screaming pierced Harry’s mind and he gasped.

Malfoy tightened his grip on Harry’s hand in response. His gaze was sharp. Perhaps he too remembered the last time they had been this close.

**XXXX**

The enchanted instruments started a new song and the melody broke the spell of remembrance. Malfoy grinned at him confidently and Harry was forced back to the present. A gentle waltz filled the air and Harry was grateful; the waltz was one of the simple dances he had perfected with Charlie’s help. Maybe he wouldn’t look as dumb as he thought he would. But, of course, Malfoy’s every movement was as graceful as his stride.

“You shouldn’t be so worried,” Malfoy whispered to him as they circled around the room. Harry was trying desperately not to stumble and Malfoy was smiling at the crowd around them instead of looking into Harry’s eyes. “You’ve become something of a natural at this.”

Harry glanced up and caught Malfoy’s eyes for a brief moment.

And properly lost his balance.

He cursed under his breath as Malfoy righted them with a laugh. The sound caused Harry’s face to flush but when he met Malfoy’s eyes for a second time, he found his dance partner smiling intimately. Malfoy didn’t look as guarded or as uptight anymore. His smile was genuine and meant for Harry. “Guess I spoke too soon,” Malfoy whispered as his grip tightened on Harry.

“This was your real purpose for getting me here. Show off how miserable I am at this in front of all these people.”

Malfoy chuckled again and Harry decided that he really needed to stop doing that while they were so close. The heat of Malfoy’s hand seared into his waist and Harry had to try his hardest _not_ to focus on how good it felt through the fabric of his suit.

“Oh, come now. You’ve been nothing but spectacular all evening.”

“As have you,” Harry found himself saying. The steps had gotten easier now that he had found a rhythm and knowing that Malfoy wasn’t having a terrible time helped bolster his courage. “For someone who dislikes…all this…you’re really good at it. Hosting and…”

“Showing off?” Malfoy finished with a smile. “I’ve certainly had enough practice.”

“Right but…I don’t know,” Harry stuttered, suddenly unsure of his words. Malfoy spun them around and Harry briefly marveled at how in tune their steps had become. “You’ve really come into your own and…it shows.”

Malfoy must have picked up on the tinge of awe and respect in Harry’s voice because the tips of his ears turned pink at the compliment. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Because of their close proximity, Harry could smell Malfoy’s cologne. It wasn’t anything biting or putrid like most of the colognes Harry had been forced to inhale. This was pleasant and soft. Harry felt Malfoy’s thumb stroke briefly against his. When their eyes met, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. But before he could embarrass himself any further, the song ended and Malfoy stepped back and away from him, letting go of Harry to applaud the enchanted instruments lightly. Harry stared at Malfoy before blinking and clapping along. He couldn’t look away. He wanted to feel the heat of that body against him again.

“May I have this dance?” a smooth voice asked from beside them.

Harry blinked and turned, watching as Blaise Zabini cocked his hip and returned Harry’s steady gaze.

“It’s only fair that Draco shares a dance with all of the eligible _pure-bloods_ in the room.”

Harry felt his skin prickle but Malfoy only laughed lightly. “Of course, Blaise. Merlin help us the moment you feel left out of something.” He gave Harry a bow, which Harry returned, before holding out his arm to Blaise.

Harry watched as the two of them began dancing as skillfully as a pair of angels to the new song. He felt a tremor of jealousy pass through him. Damn pure-bloods and their damn _talent_.

“Harry?” a voice whispered from behind him.

Harry looked behind him and saw Luna smiling at him. She held out her hand in invitation and he pulled her into his arms, grateful that he wasn’t left standing there alone while Malfoy was in the arms of a very skilled Zabini. He and Luna didn’t waltz. Instead, Harry held her hips as her wrists twirled in the air above them. Her quirky dance style had him smiling fondly and eventually laughing as she twisted and moved in that curious way of hers. When she caught his eye, she was grinning and the smile touched her eyes. Feeling more relaxed with someone he embarrassed himself around on almost a daily basis, Harry twirled her around their small, intimate portion of the dance floor. Laughing, Luna seemed delighted. She loved dancing. Harry found his attention captivated by his friend’s happiness and he forgot about Malfoy and Zabini somewhere on the other side of the dance floor, probably impressing everyone with their flair. When the song came to a close, Harry dipped her and her long, blonde locks brushed the floor. A ripple of applause sounded around them as Harry pulled her back upright.

“We must go dancing again with the others,” she told him gleefully. “Ginny would be so proud of how much you’ve learned!”

“Or she’ll mock me endlessly,” Harry replied with a laugh. He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her off of the floor, not looking back at Malfoy. His dance with Luna had put him into a cheerful, relaxed mood, and he didn’t want to see Blaise wrapping himself around Malfoy teasingly to ruin his happiness. Although Blaise had given Harry his blessing, he knew that the pure-blood loved to flaunt.

“Want to go fill up on some snacks before we head out?”

Harry nodded and they moved to the snack table, which was still surprisingly full of food. Picking out a couple of pastries for his plate, Harry asked her, “Are you having a nice time?”

“Oh, yes,” Luna replied quickly. “I am glad that we came. I will have a lovely article to write when I go home.”

Harry nodded as he sampled one of the pastries. It was heavenly!

**XXXX**

"Do try and lift your jaw from its spot on the floor. I would hate to see my shoes covered in your drool."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Blaise."

"Oh really? The fact that you're basically at half-mast from just holding Potter in your arms has nothing to do with the shade of red on your cheeks, then?"

"I am _not_ at -"

"I'm not judging, darling. By all means, he does look terribly handsome tonight. Though I do wish he would pay more attention to that rat nest on his head. Remember how we used to joke about him keeping all of Dumbledore's secrets hidden in his hair? Oh, to be young again."

Draco rolled his eyes as he twirled Blaise around the room. Unlike Potter, Blaise was, in fact, a master dancer and knew every style from the Charleston to the Tango. Draco knew that reporters were snapping photos of the pair but he couldn't help but show off just a little. He loved dancing. And it was nice being paired with someone equally as skilled.

Blaise dipped him and as he pulled Draco back up, he asked, "So? What's holding you back?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me, Draco. Why haven't you snogged him senseless yet?"

"He's not interested. And I have responsibilities."

"Pah," Blaise huffed as he spun Draco out of his arms and back into them. "That's a load if I've ever heard one."

"Blaise -"

"He's mad about you. If you haven't noticed, he's been keeping a watch on you almost the entire night and it has nothing to do with some nonsense about him being suspicious of you. He looks at you the way Pansy used to look at those fancy raspberry sorbets in Hogsmeade."

Draco fought the blush that threatened to overtake his complexion. "Have you forgotten the purpose of this ball?"

"Certainly not but that's no reason you should stop yourself from shagging him."

"Blaise!"

As the song came to an end, Blaise dipped him again and nodded to where Potter and Lovegood were awkwardly dancing. "Look at him smiling and tell me you don't fancy him."

Draco followed Blaise's line of sight and drank in the view of Potter laughing unabashedly with Lovegood.

He didn't say anything.

**XXXX**

“Excuse me.”

Harry and Luna turned to see someone standing on the other side of the snack table. The kid looked no more than fourteen or fifteen and was wearing a white dress shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. Their black hair was shoulder-length and they wore a pair of broomstick earrings. A pair of brown glasses sat on their nose in front of hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry to bother you but are you Luna Lovegood?”

Luna nodded. “I am. You are…?”

“Keeley.” The kid shot out a hand rather eagerly for Luna to shake lightly. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of your paper. When I’m older, I’m going to try to be a reporter for _The Quibbler_.”

“That’s lovely,” Luna replied, evidently surprised. _The Quibbler_ hadn’t gotten a lot of praise at this pure-blood event. “We are always looking for more talent to add to our group.”

Keeley blushed and the redness traveled down their neck. “Thank – thank you! I just wanted to tell you that your father’s paper helped my family and I recover after…you know…”

_The war._

Luna nodded, understanding. “Did you have older siblings involved?”

Keeley shifted on their feet. “My older brother Keegan escaped before the battle. I’m a fifth year at Hogwarts. My parents let me come home for the party. It means so much to me. Please never stop printing!” They spoke so quickly that Harry wasn’t sure Keeley breathed between sentences.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of stopping _The Quibbler_.”

Keeley’s face brightened. “Cool! Cool! That’s, I mean, sorry, I’m a lot better with words on paper.”

“You and me both,” Harry chimed in before stuffing a pastry into his mouth. He nodded to both of them and decided to drift away, leaving Luna with a newfound fan. Scanning his eyes across the room while he munched, Harry spotted Malfoy speaking to a trio of pure-blood girls. They were biting their lips flirtatiously and drinking in whatever nonsense Malfoy was spewing. Harry thought about interrupting but decided to wander over to Mrs. Malfoy instead. She was shockingly engaged in deep conversation with two ex-Death Eaters, three Aurors, and Shacklebolt.

“Lucius and I are very proud of Draco,” she was saying as Harry approached. “He’s doing so well at the Ministry. We are eternally grateful to the Minister for allowing our son this opportunity.”

Shacklebolt, ever a model of maturity, nodded to her, acknowledging her gratitude. “Thank you, madam. I have had nothing but positive reports from Draco’s coworkers about his exemplary work ethic. The long hour shifts in his department aren’t for everyone. Draco has impressed everyone, including me.”

“And what does the great Harry Potter think of his childhood rival’s success?” one of the ex-Death Eaters sneered.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Harry replied honestly, stepping up to stand in-between Shacklebolt and Mrs. Malfoy. “Like the Minister’s said, not everyone is suited for work at the Ministry. I’m glad he’s found success.”

“Yes… _you_ haven’t landed a job at the Ministry, despite being offered a position several times,” the old follower of Voldemort continued. Harry couldn’t remember his name but vaguely remembered his face. “One must wonder why.”

“An Auror’s life is difficult,” Harry said steadily, not letting his boiling anger show. He nodded to the Aurors that flanked Shacklebolt in recognition. “You are all very brave for being able to do what you do. I think I’ve had my share of dark arts for this lifetime, though.”

“So what _is_ the infamous Harry Potter doing these days?” another ex-Death Eater asked. “Lolling around in your earnings from your book?”

Harry clenched his fist but kept his face pleasant as he opened his mouth to reply. Before he could answer, Luna appeared at his side and announced rather flippantly, “Harry isn’t the type to loll about anything. Certainly not his defeat of Voldemort.”

The two ex-Death Eaters looked furious at a blood traitor speaking the Dark Lord’s name so freely. Mrs. Malfoy paled considerably while the Aurors around Shacklebolt tensed. However, the Minister of Magic laughed.

“Miss Lovegood, you are as charming as ever,” Shacklebolt grinned as he patted her on the shoulder. He had always had a fondness for people who supported equality. “I hear _The Quibbler_ is doing very well this year.”

Cheerfully, Luna nodded. “Very well! My father always admired you, sir. He would be equally pleased to know that you’re Minister.” She turned to face Mrs. Malfoy. “It truly has been an honor being invited to your Manor on such pleasant terms. This party symbolizes what pure-bloods can amount to now that everyone’s not possessed by bias.”

Harry thought the two ex-Death Eaters were going to whip out their wands and kill Luna right then and there. But his brave Ravenclaw friend simply curtsied to Mrs. Malfoy and Shacklebolt in turn before offering her arm to Harry. “We should say good-bye to Draco before leaving.”

Stunned beyond words, Harry found himself stumbling to bow to Mrs. Malfoy and nod to Kingsley before taking Luna’s arm and departing.

“You’re going to get us killed,” he hissed out to her as they crossed the room to find Malfoy.

Luna shrugged nonchalantly. “ _The Quibbler_ ’s headquarters has gotten more bomb and death threats than the _Prophet_ and Muggle papers combined. I’ll be fine. We have some of the best Aurors working for us in conjunction with the Ministry.”

Making a mental note to ask her more about that later, Harry turned his attention to Malfoy as they stepped up to greet him. He had moved on from the pretty ladies to mingle with some of the reporters but politely excused himself when he saw Harry and Luna approach. Noticing the strained look on Harry’s face, Malfoy asked, “What is it?”

“Luna nearly got us killed in front of your mother and Shacklebolt.”

“Two guys were heckling Harry. It was nothing,” Luna insisted in that carefree way of hers. “Ginny would think it was very sexy of me.”

“Please don’t say that,” Harry begged, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t need to know that stuff.”

“Oh, Harry. You sound like Ron or Neville.”

Malfoy’s face knotted briefly in concern. “I can visit the grounds and make sure the wards are holding up.”

Luna shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you, Draco.”

“Still, I think I’ll have to pay a visit anyway,” Malfoy insisted, letting his face relax and his voice regain a regular volume. “It has been far too long since I’ve visited.”

Luna, knowing he was only half-pandering to the crowd around them, nodded graciously at him before turning to Harry. “I’ll give you a minute.” Before Harry could protest, she floated out of sight.

Sighing, he turned to Malfoy. “I’m sorry if we have caused problems for you or your mother. I didn’t want Luna to defend me. I didn’t expect –”

“I did,” Malfoy replied, cutting in quickly. “It’s why I warned you about coming tonight.” He cleared his throat and looked away from Harry. “Other than dealing with obnoxious Death Eaters who want to savagely kill you, did you enjoy yourself tonight?” Though his face was forcibly relaxed, Harry spotted a vein pulsing in his neck.

Being around Malfoy was oddly comforting and the corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up in something of a smile. “I did. Wish I could have shared another dance with you, though. I seem to have messed up the first one pretty badly.”

Malfoy’s eyes darted back to meet Harry’s. For the briefest of moments, Harry wondered if he saw something akin to hope in those grey orbs. But instead, Malfoy let out another one of those little puffs of air and shook his head once. Smiling, he gave Harry a small bow. “I would be honored to share a dance with you again,” he told Harry, eyes facing the floor.

Harry reached out but Malfoy looked up before Harry’s hand could touch his chin. Letting his hand fall back to his side, Harry blushed. He felt embarrassed and exhausted all of a sudden. Bowing in return to Malfoy, Harry said in a rushed voice, “Thank you for inviting us. Luna and I are heading out.” He went to turn away but Malfoy held out a hand to him.

“Do me a favor," Malfoy requested quietly. "Write to me when you get home so that I know you made it back safely."

Harry shook Malfoy's hand quickly, not wanting to focus on the warmth of it or how he wanted that hand on other parts of his body. “Sure thing,” he mumbled to Malfoy before walking away to find Luna. He felt overwhelmed and drained. While he _had_ enjoyed the night for the most part, now he just wanted to return home and be with Hootia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was debating between breaking this chapter up into two or possibly three chapters but because I hashed it all out and proofread it so many times, I decided to keep it as one long chapter. I assure you that not every chapter will be this long (I hope that doesn't deter anyone lol). But there was a lot that I wanted to cover to keep things moving along. I have a couple of different ideas of where I want to take this story while still keeping it slow burn.
> 
> Also, the language that Luna speaks to Mrs. Malfoy is French. I like to imagine that she's secretly fluent in a lot of languages but gets passed over for having such knowledge because she's so odd. As a preferred style in writing, I always bold words spoken in a different language rather than looking up a translation and risking getting it terribly wrong.
> 
> Since this chapter is long as hell, and probably longer than most one-shots or chapters you might read today, please, please don't forget to review! A lot went into this chapter especially and it always warms my heart to hear what y'all think.
> 
> Much love!


	9. Spiraling, Steadying, Spiraling, Steadying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's mother opens up to him after the party; Harry has an attack; Draco helps him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to indigorose50 for beta-reading this chapter for me. If you like LazyTown, I suggest checking out their profile and works!!
> 
> I meant to post it earlier but work and the holidays here in the States got in the way.
> 
> Harry does have an anxiety attack in this chapter just so you know. Draco helps him through it.

“Master will not like what he reads.”

“Give me the paper.”

Seelba shook his head fiercely even as his arm shakily reached out to forfeit the  _ Daily Prophet _ . “Master will not like what he reads.”

Draco frowned as he unfolded the paper and read the headline:

**Pure-blood Progress or Hypocrisy?**

“Would Master like some alcohol?”

Draco’s eyes lifted from the paper to regard his house-elf. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“Seelba will not tell anyone.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco looked down at the  _Prophet_ and began reading the article:

**Although three years have passed since the demise of the Dark Lord, prejudice still exists within our wizarding world.  While the number of people affected by Unforgivable Curses has depleted since the death of the Dark Lord and the disbandment of his followers, it is clear that we do not live in a world without fear.**

**Part of that fear comes from the question of how we should treat the Dark Lord’s ex-followers who have reintegrated themselves into our society. Some of them actively try to bring harm to Muggles and non-pure-bloods without having a leader to instruct them.** **Every day, the Ministry of Magic sends hundreds of Aurors to try and stop wizards from causing pain and suffering across the globe.** **While their centralized leader has been defeated, many ex-Death Eaters continue to wreak havoc.** **Many believe this must come to an end for the world to experience true peace.**

**Other ex-followers of the Dark Lord have renounced the Dark Arts and have now dedicated their lives to helping others. Most** **notable** **is Draco Malfoy, the young** **potions master** **from Wiltshire who failed in his task to assassinate Albus Dumbledore five years ago. As you may recall us covering, Draco Malfoy publicly apologized for his part in the war and used his sentence of community service to create a potion to help patients struggling with dementia (the first of its kind). He now devotes his days to correcting magical accidents and catastrophes through the Ministry of Magic.**

**Draco Malfoy is not the only ex-follower of the Dark Lord from his graduating class to come forward and apologize. Pure-blood Gregory Goyle has found a change of heart through New Scotland Yard as a sergeant. Public ‘Muggle-hater’ Blaise Zabini now works at Hogwarts as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and works to prepare students to fight against the very magic his family has excelled in for generations.**

**Many people question how to treat these ex-followers of the Dark Lord who have changed their ways. Many believe that caution should be expressed.**

**“Why should we trust that they want to help us?” an anonymous source asked. “They and their families took everything from us in the war. We’re expected to believe that people like Zabini have suddenly lost their snobbishness and condescension towards Muggles? We’re expected to believe that the Malfoys won’t bleed out the first Muggle they come across in private? Pure-bloods hated Muggles and half-bloods and mud-bloods before He Who Must Not Be Named rose to pow** **er,** **and they’ll still hate us and persecute us now that he’s dead.”**

**(It should be noted that not all followers of the Dark Lord were pure-blooded and not all pure-bloods practice the Dark Arts.)**

**While Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has expressed a desire to move forward, many people are skeptical of whether or not this dream** **is possible. Many have called for more Aurors to watch these ex-followers and to limit their** **freedom** **until they show a true devotion to the cause. The fact that many ex-followers are currently not on 24/7 watch bothers many members of the wizarding world.**

**Last night, Draco Malfoy hosted a gala at Malfoy Manor to celebrate his late coming of age. As is customary, the eldest pure-blood child will have a coming of age celebration upon their seventeenth birthday to celebrate their graduation and promote their glorious future. However, given the fact that Malfoy Manor was headquarters for the Dark Lord during Draco Malfoy’s actual coming of age, his parents felt that it was best to postpone the event.**

**The party was not just a celebration of the young Malfoy but an attempt to demonstrate good faith between the Malfoys and the rest of the wizarding world. Hosted by Narcissa Malfoy and Draco Malfoy, the party featured honored dignitaries from foreign countries, members of the Ministry of Magic (including Shacklebolt himself and several Aurors), reporters, and notable ex-followers of the Dark Lord. It was an eccentric gathering and tensions were high until the Boy Who Lived himself walked in on the arm of Luna Lovegood, head editor and CEO of** **_The Quibbler_ ** **, fashionably late and dressed to the nines. Harry Potter dazzled guests with his Muggle-made suit, mature and cordial attitude, and surprising ability to (mostly) maintain a two-step on the dance floor.**

**Many guests of the party were interested in seeing how Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter would interact given their strained relationship (see our past articles), but the two were not only supportive of one another in every interview, but were friendly when conversing face-to-face. The two even shared a memorable dance (seen above) that was something of a breath of fresh air. Their dynamic fascinated us as we struggled to understand how two ex-rivals who were once ready to annihilate each other could come together for a night of wining and dining.**

**“Potter believes in my mission to find peace,” Draco Malfoy told us when we asked about their relationship. “We have developed a mutual respect that was severely lacking in our youth. It has not been easy for either of us to put aside our differences, but he believes in seeing that lighter tomorrow. And I imagine we’ll face the dawn together.”**

**When asked more about the purpose of his party, Draco Malfoy elaborated, “Pure-bloods have the ability to set a new future now that Voldemort no longer leads us. No longer are we expected to adhere to a historical penchant of following the Dark Arts and wizards who practice them. We make our own stand. Tonight, this party represents that move forward to a better tomorrow. I believe in a tomorrow without Death Eaters and terrorists. I believe in a tomorrow where sinners can repent and demonstrate compassion and remorse. I believe in a tomorrow that promotes unity through healing magic rather than dark magic. I believe in a world where we recover together.”**

**Despite his pretty words, it was fairly evident that part of the reasoning behind the event was to help find a wife for the eligible, pure-blood bachelor. When asked why no non-pure-blood, eligible bachelorette had been invited to the ball, Narcissa Malfoy replied, “There are some customs that we must still adhere to. Draco is our only child. We [meaning her and Lucius Malfoy] want the best for him.”**

**Evidently, the ‘best’ means conforming to that socioeconomic segregation that Draco Malfoy seems willing to try and defy. Surprisingly, the most intimate conversation Draco Malfoy seemed to share throughout the entire evening was not with a well-bred, pure-blood lady, but with honored guest Harry Potter. The two spent much of the evening catching up or looking for one another when they were apart. Is a genuine friendship blossoming between the despicable Slytherin and the noble Gryffindor?**

**While the party was something of a success, we can only wait and see whether or not tensions will truly ebb between those who followed the Dark Lord and survivors of his reign of terror. Hopefully this event was the stepping stone for peace but only time will tell.**

**XXXX**

Draco reread the article that took up nearly four pages of the  _ Prophet  _ several times. When he had nearly memorized every word, his eyes floated up to take in the moving image of him and Potter dancing. It was the moment when Potter had tripped. The Chosen One had this ‘Oh fuck’ look on his face as Draco righted him with a grin. Draco looked at the image of his own smiling face for a long moment.

Merlin, what would his mother say?

What would his  _ father  _ say? 

It was better to focus on the main point of the article which was that ex-follower pure-bloods weren’t to be trusted. At least  _ that  _ was something he could discuss with his parents.That was safe, familiar ground.  


He debated Disapparating from his bedroom to the Ministry to get some work done but remembered it was Sunday and people would find it odd seeing him the day after his big party. Frowning, he looked to the note that Potter had sent him last night. It sat on his bedside table and the messy script leered at him.

**Malfoy,**

**I made it home safely. Thank you again for the invite. Until next time.**

**-Harry Potter**

Draco rolled up the  _ Prophet _ and tucked it under his robes as he took in a breath and left his bedroom to face his mother downstairs.  _ Better get this over with before it escalates into something larger. _

She was waiting for him in their second dining room. She had already finished breakfast and sat elegantly poised in a silver dress. When he entered, he wasn’t surprised to see that she had a copy of the  _ Prophet  _ on the table in front of her. He could see the photograph of him and Potter dancing from across the room and he tried to keep his expression neutral as he sat down across from her.

_ I should have let the Aurors kill me in Germany. _

“Draco,” she began and the forced casualness of her voice made the knot in his stomach tighten. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

“Yes, of course. It was a very pleasant evening.”

“I agree. You were a model of handsome chivalry, Draco. In one night, I have received several letters from pure-blood families asking for you to spend more time with their eligible daughters.”

“That is good news.”

“Indeed.”

His eyes scanned her face. She wasn’t saying what she wanted to say. It was a look he had grown accustomed to seeing on her during their many shared meetings with Voldemort.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Draco?”

“Did you enjoy the evening?”

She considered him for a moment. “I did. I miss hosting parties.” 

He waited but when she didn’t say anything more, he tentatively commented, “You certainly seemed in your element. You were a wonder, Mother.”

She smiled but it was melancholy and brief. “I always wanted you to find someone beautiful and intelligent and ambitious and worthy of your love to marry. A mother wants her son to find happiness in the woman he marries rather than settling for whatever pure-blood is available. But with so few of us left in this part of the world, I fear we must branch out to other countries to find that suitable someone for you.”

_ Woman. _

Draco swallowed uncomfortably. He wondered where she was going with this. But his mother turned her gaze back to the window and was quiet for a long moment.

“I met your father at Hogwarts.” She paused and Draco felt his pulse quicken. She had never talked about her marriage in front of Draco before. Through the trials, through the aftermath, Narcissa had never spoken about her and her  husband’s past. Even growing up, Draco had heard very little stories about their relationship. “He was…brilliant, even then. He had an air of leadership that struck a fire in me. I always knew he would accomplish greatness. I…” she paused again. “We were in love.” A sliver of emotion crept into her voice and Draco felt rooted to the spot. There was a reason _why_ she was opening up but he couldn't figure it out. Narcissa was not known to demonstrate emotion frequently without a _reason_. “He would bring me flowers every morning in the Great Hall," she continued. "He didn’t enjoy dancing but he was always marvelous at it. We used to sneak out from our dorms just to learn new steps together.” 

Draco wished he had something to fidget with. His mother looked back at him and there was something there in her expression. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was but it made him oddly nervous.

“My elder sister married because it was her duty. But she never produced a child with Rodolphus. Because of that, the expectation fell to me. But I did not mind. Lucius –” she took a small breath and looked out the window. “Lucius and I wanted to produce a child as soon as we were wed. Despite his appearance, he was so excited and nervous to be a father. He used to ask so many questions of people around us who already had children. It was…humbling. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I experienced a joy that has gotten me through many dark days. I think of holding you in my arms when you were just a baby and I can summon my Patronus. Your father and I were so happy when you were born. You were beautiful, healthy, and we knew you would be very strong.

“Unlike my elder sister, Andromeda didn’t marry for status. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand how she could find happiness with a Muggle. I still don’t understand. We never spoke after she was burned from the family tree.” She gestured to the newspaper in front of her. “But there are many who do not understand why we marry only those worthy of us and our wealth and our status. These… _ reporters  _ say that it is wrong to maintain tradition. But I found love in following tradition. I found happiness…in my own way.” Her eyes bore into Draco’s and he suddenly understood. “By conforming to tradition, I had my greatest joy and treasure in this world, Draco. I know what the papers say about us and what people think of us. I have always known. But Draco, you mustn’t let their words stop you from finding your future. There is no soul in this world that I think is more beautiful than yours. My son…you deserve only the best of this world.”

He didn’t know what to say. 

He wished he had gone to the Ministry and faced curious coworkers instead of listening to his mother’s heartfelt words. They filled him with sadness and guilt at wanting to be with anyone other than a pure-blood  _lady_. 

His mother was reminding him of his expected place in the world.   


Draco wanted to be free of expectations.

But he couldn't voice his selfish desires to his mother. Especially not after she had _finally_ shared a bit of herself that she had kept hidden from him for years. It felt wrong to say anything to her other than what she wanted to hear. 

“I will make you proud, Mother.”

She smiled at him but he felt a sense of betrayal forming in his heart.

He knew he couldn’t make her proud unless he denied himself his one want.

**XXXX**

Harry Potter felt terrible.

He hadn’t slept a wink the night of the party. He eventually gave up tossing and turning in bed in favor of going downstairs in his pajamas. He had converted one of the unused rooms of Grimmauld Place into a gym and had brought in some Muggle equipment to stay in shape.

_“You’ll want to look your best when you meet your future spouse,” Ginny had half-joked at him. It didn’t help that she was completely ripped and Harry had gained a pocket of pudge._ _He worked out daily but sometimes found himself overdoing it._

“Does Master require anything?”

“No, Kreach, I’m fine,” Harry sighed as he got onto a treadmill. The truth was that he was the exact  _ opposite  _ of fine but he wasn’t about to worry the house-elf with it. There wasn't much Kreacher could do for him anyway. Harry was emotionally and mentally drained from the party. He felt out of sorts. He was jittery and couldn’t seem to relax. He needed a distraction. Starting up the treadmill, Harry began at a steady pace but quickly sped the machine up until he was breathing heavily. However, once his breathing quickened, it escalated further and he stepped off the machine. Memories swam through his mind and mingled with the feel of dancing with Malfoy. He ran his hands through his hair. He could hear Hermione’s screaming as he remembered the feel of Malfoy’s hands on him.

“Master’s hyperventilating.” 

He had forgotten Kreacher was in the room and jumped at the sound of the house-elf’s voice. Harry choked out, “I told you…not to call…me that.” He  _ had  _ stepped off the treadmill, right? The world was spinning around him. He needed to lie down. 

“You are not well.”

Harry shut his eyes. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

“Master Potter?”

Harry was crying.

**XXXX**

Later that day, Draco picked up a copy of  _ The Quibbler  _ and read Luna’s publication about his party. She had nothing but pleasant things to say about the evening and  complemented everything from Draco’s handsome robes to his wonderful ability on the dance floor to the excellent food. Unlike the  _ Prophet _ , Luna’s publication didn’t say anything about the presence of ex-Voldemort followers or the unsteady relationship between pure-bloods and everyone else. Instead she focused on the positives of the party, especially where Narcissa and Draco were concerned. It was a surprising gesture of good faith and Draco admitted to himself that he was surprised by it. She didn’t have to do that. 

He didn’t deserve her kindness. 

“Seelba,” he called.

The house-elf appeared in front of him. “Yes, Master?”

“I’m going out for a bit. Make sure Mother is attended to.”

The house-elf bowed low. “Yes, Master.”

Draco considered the house-elf as he shrugged on his outerwear robe. Luna had also mentioned how Malfoy Manor had wonderful house-elves working in it, even taking a moment to note the extreme politeness of one named Seelba. He pursed his lips before asking, “Have you seen  _ The Quibbler  _ today?”

The house-elf looked terribly embarrassed all of a sudden. Seelba shifted on his feet and kept his head bowed extra low.

“Don’t fret,” Draco replied. “You should feel proud. Luna Lovegood is a very kind soul. To have someone like her speak kindly about you is not something to be taken lightly.”

Not knowing what to say, Seelba bowed again. 

Nodding more to himself than to the house-elf, Draco opened the front door of the Manor. “We should all feel very lucky.”

**XXXX**

He wasn’t sure if Potter had read the papers but he wanted to find out. He couldn’t wait for a reply by owl. Draco wanted to go in person . If Potter took the  _ Prophet _ ’s article about the party poorly, Draco wanted to assume complete responsibility. He wanted to see if they were okay.   


Plus he needed to get out of the Manor and away from his mother for a bit.

Draco was selfish. But he couldn't stay in the Manor like a prisoner in his own home.

Around midday, he Apparated down the street from Grimmauld Place. He hadn’t been to the building in years but he remembered its location. Convincing himself that he shouldn’t feel awkward walking into a home that once belonged to his family’s relations, he crossed the street and watched as the hidden townhouse grew in size between Number 11 and Number 13.

_ ‘You’re being watched by reporters.’ _

Nodding to himself, Draco didn’t slow or quicken his stride at the spell’s warning. He knew how it might look, him going to Potter’s home the day after his party. But if Potter murdered him, he wanted to make sure someone knew where he died. Either way, Draco figured he wouldn’t be staying at the townhouse long.

Plus, it helped that the reporters couldn’t see Grimmauld Place and wouldn’t be able to tell where Draco vanished to on the street.

Draco made his way to the ominous door of Grimmauld Place and considered the wood for a moment. He briefly wondered if the wards would keep him out but when he raised his hand to knock, nothing hexed him. The Fidelius Charm wasn’t required because Potter had amped up the protection protocols. If any wizard who wasn’t welcomed so much as stepped up to the front door, they would be stunned with such a ferocity that it would take weeks for Mungo’s to heal them. 

_ "Hell, show up at Grimmauld Place!" Potter had told him over lunch that one day. _ The townhouse must have taken Potter's words as permission to allow Draco inside.

Kreacher opened the door. He looked out onto the street and Draco watched his eyes wander for a moment before landing on the hidden reporters. Glaring fiercely at them, Kreacher  bared his teeth before gesturing Draco inside. Quickly, the house-elf shut the door behind Draco and turned to face the blond. 

“Sir cannot go to Master Potter.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at the insistent tone in the house-elf’s voice. “Where is he?”

“He is ill, Sir Malfoy. He cannot see you.”

“He did not tell me he was ill.”

“Master did not know that you would come.”

Draco considered the house-elf evenly. His gaze narrowed. “But you did.”

Kreacher shifted on his feet. “Kreacher did, Sir. Kreacher knows why you are here. Kreacher fetches the paper for Master Potter every day. But Master Potter has not seen the paper yet. Master Potter is ill.”

“And what is he ill with?”

Kreacher looked uncomfortable. It was a look Draco was far too familiar with seeing on the house-elves in the Manor. “Kreacher knows that you mean well, Sir. Kreacher has always believed in the might and wonder of Sir Malfoy. But Kreacher cannot allow you to visit Master Potter while he is not well.”

“Did Potter order you not to?”

Kreacher looked truly torn. He shook his head but there was something in his eyes…

“Has anyone else visited this place today?”

“The mud-blo–” Kreacher cut himself off. He didn’t want to have to punish himself. “Ms. Granger came earlier with the Weasley boy. They did not stay long. They had to leave for work.”

“Work? I thought very few people went in on Sundays at the Ministry.”

“The Minister himself called and they had to leave immediately. They were not happy about leaving.”

“Did they say when they would be back?”

Kreacher shook his head. “It did not sound like they would be back today. Kreacher knows that Aurors are often gone for many days. Kreacher promised to keep Master Potter safe in the meantime.”

“I am not here to harm him.”

“Kreacher knows this, Sir.”

Draco sniffed in contempt and allowed his gaze to travel around the long entrance way. Most of the portraits had been covered with curtains to prevent them from seeing who entered Potter’s home. The curtain didn’t prevent Walburga Black from wailing out, “IS THAT DRACO MALFOY? MERLIN, IT’S BEEN AGES! DARLING, PULL BACK THIS WRETCHED CURTAIN AND LET ME LOOK AT YOU!” 

Draco ignored her and let his eyes fall on the troll umbrella stand against the wall. Frowning, he half-wondered if Potter would appear at any moment to shoo him out. “He hasn’t read the  _ Prophet _ ?”

Kreacher shook his head quickly. “No, Sir. Master Potter has not read any papers today. He has barely left his room."  


“Has he eaten anything?”

“No, Sir. Kreacher wondered if perhaps Master Potter had been cursed at your party but Master told me through the door that he had not been hexed.”

“DON’T YOU IGNORE ME, DRACO MALFOY! WHAT WOULD YOUR MOTHER SAY?” the portrait of Walburga Black screamed at him.

Ignoring the portrait once more, Draco frowned at the house-elf. “Well of course he wasn’t hexed at my party. The drinks were spelled to change color if they were drugged or tampered with. I took precautions –”

“Kreacher did not know this, Sir,” the house-elf insisted. “Kreacher was just trying to find a reason for Master Potter’s illness. Kreacher would rather iron his hands than insult someone like Sir Malfoy.”

"DRACO MALFOY, YOU WILL PULL BACK THIS CURTAIN AND LET ME LOOK AT YOU!"

Draco looked past the house-elf and up the grand staircase. “But he is at home…?”

“He is –”

“Not well, I know.” Draco resisted the urge to stun the creature. It would do him no favors to have Potter discover his house-elf stunned by an ex-Death Eater. “I must insist on seeing him anyway. I promise not to have him harmed.”

“Master Potter –”

“Is ill, yes, I  _ know _ ,” Draco interrupted. His patience was wearing thin. Maybe he’d stun the creature after all. “I just –”

“Malfoy?”

The quiet voice made Draco turn sharply and find Potter standing on the stairwell down the hall. Wanting to get closer to Potter and away from the wailing portrait, Draco’s feet led him down the hall to the foot of the staircase. He took a moment to examine Potter. The Chosen One looked completely  _ wrecked _ . His flannel pants were a mess and his tank top was soaked with sweat. The thin fabric clung to Potter’s chest. His shoulders had broadened a bit in the last few years and his biceps were starting to show defined muscles. Despite his good looks, his hair was even more of a disaster than normal and his face was covered in a light sheen that could be a mix of sweat and…tears?

Draco swallowed. It had been a long time, a  _ very  _ long time, since he had seen Potter look anything other than held together. During the trials, during every interview, after the release of his book...Potter had always looked composed. To the public eye, he was a survivor – strong and proud. But now, here in Grimmauld Place, without his Glam Squad backing him up and people to put on a front for, Potter looked…alone. Truly alone. His hand rested on the banister but, even from a few feet away, Draco could tell that the Boy Who Lived was shaking. 

“I didn’t know you were ill,” Draco began after a moment’s hesitation. He opened his mouth to continue but felt the words die on his lips. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to tell Potter that the  _ Prophet  _ vaguely insinuated they might be _close_ when Potter looked so…so…

Potter stepped forward. He took another step down the stairs but then halted. His gaze was trapped on Draco. Those eyes looked ready to resume crying at any moment.

“What’s wrong? Is it one of your –” Draco cut himself off before he could make a snide remark. That kind of attitude had no business here when Potter looked so defenseless. The Chosen One wasn’t in the mood to joke around. Instead, Draco finished his question with the word, “Friends?” He knew it sounded funn y, t he way it always did whenever Draco used the F word.

Potter’s gaze fell. He shook his head once but didn’t elaborate.

Draco glanced behind him but saw that Kreacher had disappeared. Walburga had also stopped screaming. Draco hoped the house-elf had vanished to allow them privacy rather than find something to bludgeon Draco with. He turned back to Potter and asked softly, “Is it an attack?”

Potter’s shaking worsened. 

Draco walked up the stairs and stopped on the step below Potter. Their eyes met and he saw genuine fear in Potter's gaze. 

_How many times did he look like this while we were at Hogwarts? How many times did he feel like this when we lived in the same building?_

“I am here for you,” Draco whispered. He knew he was repeating the words that Potter had wrote him after his own attack. He remembered how comforting it had been hearing them and hoped that Potter would be comforted as well.

Potter shook his head as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself. His biceps unknowingly flexed with the movement and Draco cursed himself for noticing something so alluring when Potter was so miserable.  _ Just another shitty quality,  _ Draco thought to himself as he leaned against the banister.

Potter stood there for a moment before he tried to speak but only wound up crying.

Draco wasn’t sure what Potter needed or how to help. He had never been the best with giving physical sources of comfort, having never really known them in his youth. Knowing that he had to try, he slowly reached out and wrapped his hand gently around Potter’s wrist. Potter flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Taking that as an encouraging sign, Draco kept his hand on Potter’s wrist. 

“When you’re ready, you can tell me about it…if you want.”

Potter opened his eyes and when his devastated gaze landed on Draco, the blond felt his heart break. He didn’t want to see Potter in pain. He didn’t want to see Potter suffer like this. 

The words came tumbling from his lips, “I’m here for you.”

“It’s stupid,” Potter choked out and his voice sounded  _ awful _ . Had he been screaming? He couldn’t seem to make his eyes meet Draco’s. “I was fine at your party. I…”

When it didn’t look like Potter was going to finish his statement, Draco encouraged, “Was this an attack?”

The tears made a journey down Potter’s face. “I was fine at your party.”

“Why didn’t you write me or send your Patronus? You can’t say you’re here for me and not expect the same in return.”

Potter flinched as if he had been struck. 

Draco instantly knew he had said the wrong thing and tried again with, “You know…for someone who has always had the backing of at least two devoted friends…you don’t really tell people what you’re thinking or feeling.”

Potter’s voice was like ice when he spoke. “Maybe because during a lot of it, everyone told me I was nuts.”

Without thinking about it, Draco rubbed his thumb back and forth over Potter’s wrist bone instead of letting go. “You still had people who wouldn’t give up on you. At the end, you had an  _ army _ of people behind you.”

Potter’s arms fell to his sides, causing Draco to let go. “And look how many lives were lost because of me.”

“They were fighting for themselves, Potter. For their safety, and the safety of their families…they were fighting for what they believed in.”

“Nobody should have died. Especially not children –”

“We were  _ all  _ children!” Draco realized his voice had risen in volume and he took a moment to regain composure. They hadn’t talked about this in person before. Yet why did it feel like they had had this conversation a million times?

_ Probably because you’ve read his book a million times,  _ a totally unhelpful voice whispered in his ear.  _ You’ve had this conversation with yourself so many times that you’ve always known what you’d say to him if he ever spoke to you like the way he did in his book. _

But the reality that he and Potter were finally having some semblance of The Conversation That Needed to Happen, as Draco had dubbed it in his mind, rattled him. Their… _friendship_ was still so new and in the early stage of discovery. Was Draco ready to talk about this?

His eyes ran across the tearful, pained face of Harry Potter. Maybe Potter  _ needed  _ to hear it. Maybe he needed to hear it from  _ Draco _ .

“We were  _ children _ ,” Draco began, “involved in a war that should have been fought by adults but considering most of them were completely incompetent in bringing Voldemort down, it fell to you. And Granger and Weasley and the whole Dumbledore’s Army. Moaning Myrtle’s death was the only innocent death of an innocent child at the hands of Voldemort.” Draco resisted the urge to look around him at the mention of the Dark Lord's name or to check his Dark Mark. Steeling himself, he continued, “Everyone else committed to the possibility of their fate when they took part in that final battle.”

Potter crossed his arms again as he looked away from Draco. He looked unstable and possibly ready to throw a punch or two. 

Not wanting to feel the wrath of Potter’s fury and frustration, Draco reached out and pulled Potter’s arms gently away from his chest. Letting Potter’s arms fall, Draco held onto Potter’s wrists in his hands. He waited until Potter met his eyes before he muttered, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type to have survivor’s guilt before reading your book. I guess I never really thought that the battle would be something you took so personally.”

Potter laughed humorlessly. When his eyes met Draco’s, the gaze pierced Draco’s heart. It was full of self-loathing and exhaustion and…something else that Draco wasn’t willing to label. 

“I'm angry at what happened," Potter confessed quietly. "I'm angry that I was set up from the very beginning and nobody stopped it from happening. I _died_ when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on me.” His voice wavered and he swallowed. “I had a choice between life and death. I chose life.” He shook his head and the tears poured down his cheeks. “Dumbledore –” his voice caught and the tears fell harder. “He – he said I had a choice. That I got to choose what I wanted. But nobody else got that choice in the end. Sure, everyone fought for what they believed in, but I was the only one who died and came  _ back _ . I wish I hadn’t.” He laughed that hollow sound again as his body wracked with despair. Draco could vaguely feel Potter’s pulse pounding under his touch. “I shouldn’t have lived.”

Draco stood there, frozen in place. He had read about the scene at the heavenly train station. Potter had talked about his conversation with Dumbledore in his book. Draco had read it, along with thousands of others, and had been equally as skeptical about Potter’s short journey into the afterlife. But, watching Potter now, he couldn’t bring himself to voice his skepticism. Instead, Draco stepped up onto the same step as Potter. 

The Chosen One fell against him and Draco was forced to wrap his arms around the boy’s shoulders, pulling Potter against him. Potter’s face buried into Draco’s shoulder as Draco’s hands found the protrusions of Potters’ shoulder blades under his tank top. They stayed like that for a long moment, Draco rubbing Potter’s back gently while Potter sobbed into his shoulder. He could feel the material of his robes dampening but Draco didn’t dare move away from Potter to complain. Instead he held the boy tighter. 

"I'm angry about living," Potter muttered into the fabric of Draco's robes.  


Draco didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he  _ could  _ say. Everything that came to mind sounded wrong. He simply stood there, hoping that his physical comfort was enough to relax Potter.

“I…I’m glad you…chose life.” He felt Potter stiffen and Draco quickly rectified, “I mean it. As…tacky as it sounds, all things considered.” His lips weren’t far from Potter’s ear and he hoped that the close proximity helped convey his honesty. He glided his hands over Potter's shoulders and wished he could do more. “Without you, so many others would have surely fallen apart by now. You’re something of a beacon. And it has nothing to do with your involvement in the war or your name or your legacy or any bullocks like that.”

Potter adjusted to rest his forehead against Draco’s shoulder and his hair brushed against Draco’s face with the movement. 

Draco resisted the urge to press his cheek against Potter’s head.

“Then what does it…?”  


Draco slowly pulled back, keeping his hands on Potter’s back to steady them both. It took Potter a moment to break free from Draco’s shoulder. When he did, he kept his gaze downcast. Draco gently reached out and cupped Potter’s chin in his thumb and pointer finger, tilting Potter’s face up to meet his. Potter’s lips were swollen from biting them and his glasses were smudged. That familiar scar was even with Draco’s face.

Draco couldn’t speak.

Potter’s eyes searched his, wanting Draco to give him something to go off of. Potter  _ needed  _ to hear an answer. An honest one. A meaningful one.

Draco’s hand trembled against Potter’s chin. Keeping his eyes locked onto Potter’s, he slid his hand to the side of Potter’s face and cupped his cheek. His thumb caught a tear with the motion and something incredibly domestic pounded through him. If he had a lover, could Draco do this for them whenever they needed it? If Draco had found the love of his life at Hogwarts like his parents had, could he be wiping away their tears now? Would someone wipe away his tears some day?  


Potter’s gaze softened into something less demanding and angry at the contact.

Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest. He had never been this soft, this gentle, with someone before. Nobody had allowed him this close and he had never  _ wanted  _ to be this close with anybody. Sure, he had _wanted_ this gentleness, but he had never actually found anyone willing or worthy enough to be near him like this. 

His mother’s words echoed in his head.

“Do you know what one of my favorite memories of you is?” 

Potter’s eyes searched his.

“When you caught that damn Snitch in your mouth our first year.” 

Potter’s eyes widened.

“It was the most absurd way to win a Quidditch game anyone had witnessed in years.” The words started pouring out of Draco in a stream of consciousness. “That dumb victory had nothing to do with Voldemort. It was entirely  _ you _ . You with your stupid luck and fucking fantastic skill with everything and – just – being  _ Potter _ …you won that match by just being  _ you _ .  _ That’s  _ why people adore you.  _ That’s  _ why Granger and the entire Weasel clan and Lovegood and McGonagall and the Order and your faithful followers never gave up on you. You’ve always had way too much heart and strength to take on the world." His thumb stroked against Potter's cheek. "It’s okay to give up sometimes on things. But you can’t give up on yourself.” Draco’s face softened into something intimate. “I haven’t spent the last ten years of my life competing against you for you to back out now.”

“Malfoy…”

Draco felt a funny emotion he couldn’t name twisting through him as those emerald eyes drowned him in their gaze. Needing something to lessen the weight of the moment, he said, “You weren’t sorted into Gryffindor for your brains, you know.”

Potter let out a breathless puff of air and reached up to wipe away his tears. Draco withdrew his hand from Potter's cheek and watched the Chosen One scrub at his face for a bit.  


“For a snobby pure-blood, you’re not completely terrible at this comforting thing,” Potter managed to get out as he wiped at the mess on his face.

For some reason the compliment brought a light blush to the tips of Draco’s ears. Rolling his eyes at Potter, the blond flicked his hair over his shoulder indignantly. “Please. I had something of a mind to become a healer.”

That made Potter laugh. The sound was shaky and not like how it sounded at the pub in Germany but it was something of a start.

Draco had to admit to himself that Potter was insufferably attractive.

“If I had known that you wouldn't be a prick about the whole thing, I would have contacted you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Draco shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Really. Now you know for next time.”

“Next time?”

Draco crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “I know this wasn’t a one-time thing and that you’re still not fine. I’m not leaving you now and I’ll be here when it happens again.”

Potter looked flabbergasted. “You don’t have to stay. I think I'm…stable now.”

_ Something's changing. _

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe that. And I had nothing else planned for the day anyway, so I might as well stay.”

A thought struck Potter and his eyes widened. “Wait. This street is always watched by reporters –”

Draco shrugged. “It’s fine. Maybe if you want to go shower and freshen up, we can go out for a bit? Get your mind off of it all, if you want.”

_ Something's happening. _

Potter sighed and started to run a hand through his hair but his fingers got caught on the knots and he removed it. “I bet I look like a drowned Kneazle.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Draco tried to joke but it came out funny. He blinked again. Why had his voice jumped up? Clearing his throat, he amended, “No…you look fine.” 

_ Handsome. Alluring. Beautiful. I don’t know how to act around you when you’re not cocky and conquering the world.  _

Potter gave him an odd look before turning to go up the stairs. He paused and glanced back at Draco. “Um, are you going to just hang out here?”

“What?”

Potter blushed and Draco felt his body heat up as he realized the implication of Potter’s words.

“No, I meant – I meant – you don’t have to stay on the staircase,” Potter stuttered. The blush deepened and an awkward form of tension settled between them. Clearing his throat, Potter started to walk up the stairs backwards. “Uh. Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

Draco watched him go.

_ I think... _

He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and looked around. Kreacher didn’t reappear to give him a tour and Draco was thankful for it. He hadn’t been inside Grimmauld Place since he was eight or nine, but from what he remembered of the dismal building, it hadn’t changed much under Potter’s watch. As he made his way up the staircase, the shrunken heads of house-elves hovered above him.

_ Maybe... _

Traveling across the upper floor, Draco made his way into the drawing room. He could vaguely remember members of the Black family telling him how handsome he would become when he was older. He remembered Walburga Black and a younger Regulus. He remembered the old curtains and the dreary furniture. Walking further into the room, Draco’s eyes fell upon the grand Black family tree. 

_ I might be... _

Hootia soared through the air and landed on a couch beside him. Draco reached out and lightly ran his fingers through her feathers in greeting. “You know, your owner made fun of me for what I named my owl. But have I said a word to him about what he’s named you? No.” His gaze turned back to the family tree and his eyes fell on his mother’s name. He trailed the winding branch with his eyes until he found his own name staring back at him.

_ “No, I’m not seeing anyone,”  _ _Potter had told the press at Draco’s party._ The words replayed themselves in his mind as he stared at the tapestry. Potter was available but unobtainable. He belonged with a lower-class wizard that made him happy. Potter would be like Androme da,  who married for love rather than status. Potter wasn’t a pure-blood. He didn’t need to conform to expectations the way Draco needed to.

Potter’s mother would have been proud of him regardless of who he married.

“I shouldn’t want him to tell me when he has an attack,” he muttered to Hootia. “It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t care.”

But he did.

The thought left a sour taste in Draco’s mouth. He wanted Potter to be able to trust him. He wanted to be one of the first people Potter turned to in the event of an attack. 

_ “You deserve only the best of this world,” his mother had told him just a few hours ago. _

Draco was starting to think Potter  _ was  _ the best of this world. 

_ I think I am... _

He felt someone’s presence behind him. Draco didn’t turn around. “I forgot about this,” he told Potter, nodding to the family tree. “It’s…both annoying and breathtaking at the same time.”

As Potter moved to stand next to him, Draco noticed the Chosen One’s change in outfit. He was dressed in a fresh pair of jeans that hugged his legs and a loose sweater with a wide collar that revealed bits of his shoulders. His hair was damp like it had been when they went to the café to discuss Draco’s party. His eyes were bright behind the glasses and he gave Draco a nervous smile.

“You waited.”

Draco cursed the blush that wanted to overtake his features. “Of course.”

Potter’s smile grew at the corners as his gaze turned to survey the family tree. “I’m a little surprised.”

“Well I would hate to miss out on a stroll down memory lane.”

They silently looked at Draco’s name on the wall for a long moment. 

“Listen, Malfoy, I - I just wanted to say –” 

Draco held up a hand without looking at Potter. “You don’t have to say anything. It happens to both of us equally enough. I get it.”

Potter frowned. “Still. Showing weakness isn’t a habit I’m used to with people who aren’t Hermione or Ron.” 

“I’m honored.”

Potter glanced at him, probably expecting Draco’s gaze to reek of sarcasm, but Draco had spoken honestly. He met Potter’s gaze and they considered each other. 

“Right. Well…” Potter muttered as he shifted on his feet. “I feel terribly awkward about the whole thing and I'm sure this isn't the last time we're going to talk about it." He cleared his throat and looked back at the family tree. "You suggested we get out of this place. What do pure-bloods do when they’re not torturing Muggles?” 

Draco genuinely smiled.

_I think I'm falling for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please don't forget to leave a review about what you enjoyed in this chapter! The more positive feedback I receive, the more I make uploading the next chapter faster a priority. 
> 
> Much love!


	10. The Implications of Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy start then ANGST

“I never would have guessed you as the outdoorsy type.”

“Thought I’d worry about breaking a nail?”

“Something like that.”

Draco gave him a sideways glance. “After being confined to a study for three years, I’ve grown a fondness for the chance to be outdoors whenever I can manage it.”

Harry nodded in understanding as the trail they were on came out to a large lake in the middle of an open valley. Malfoy hadn’t taken him through any forests, which Harry was grateful for. They had Disapparated outside of Grimmauld Place so that reporters would see them leave before coming to a wide span of nature trails that led them through marshes and grassy plains.

“I find it peaceful,” Malfoy confessed to him as they started wandering the perimeter of the lake, “being surrounded by nature without someone to badger you about _expectations_ or _responsibilities_.”

Harry could understand a thing or two about that.

**XXXX**

As they hiked in relative silence, Harry found himself checking Malfoy’s expression for any sign of discontent. However, the pure-blood truly did seem right at home in the open vastness of the unexplored wilderness. Harry was starting to recognize Malfoy as an anomaly. He hadn’t expected the pure-blood to talk him through the attack, let alone suggest they go out and _do_ something together, but here they were, enjoying each other’s company. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to have the kind of foresight to stick to flat trails that caused little strain, yet Malfoy had avoided all mountains and troublesome hills. The Slytherin had never been that kind of person before. For the longest time, Harry hadn’t thought Malfoy _could_ be that kind of person.

This kinder, softer side intrigued him. He wanted to know more.

“What’s something I don’t know about you?”

Malfoy turned his head and gave him a curious look. “Pardon?”

“I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

“You mean other than the pretentious pure-blood bits?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, come off it. Even _you_ have to have something you enjoy outside of work.”

Malfoy gave him a skeptical look before replying curtly, “I swim.”

The short reply surprised Harry and he momentarily stopped walking. “Really?”

Malfoy visibly tried not to sigh in irritation. “Of course, _really_. During the off-season from school, my parents and I used to vacation in a summer home in France. A pool was connected and I used it to keep my mind at ease and my body in shape.”

“That’s why you always came back to Hogwarts looking pruny?”

Malfoy glared at him and Harry smirked in reply.

“I suppose it was a nice reminder of home while I was at Hogwarts,” Malfoy continued. “What with the dorms being near the lake and all.”

“The only times I really got to swim involved risking my life,” Harry replied. “I’m sure I might enjoy it if the experience didn’t involve getting killed by mermaids or a squid.” He paused on the lakeside to bend down and search for a stone to skip. He picked up a cluster of pebbles in his hand and began sifting through them, looking for the right one to throw.

“What about you?” Malfoy asked. Harry didn’t need to look up to know that the pure-blood’s gaze was on him. “What’s something the papers haven’t managed to find out about you?”

Harry found a smooth, tan pebble and stood up to his normal height. “Well, not that this should surprise you in any way, but there are plenty of Muggle activities I like.” He waited for Malfoy to make some snide remark but the pure-blood only raised a skeptical eyebrow in response. “Sports, games, taking care of plants –”

“I didn’t realize gardening was an activity specific to Muggles.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Grimmauld Place doesn’t let in a lot of natural light but I manage to grow succulents around the house.”

Malfoy gave him that funny look again. “Succulents,” he deadpanned.

“Don’t be a git,” Harry laughed. “Neville and Luna send me some for every holiday. I’ve amassed something of a collection. I’ve almost got a hundred.”

“You sound rather proud of that. A hundred succulents for the _Prophet_ ’s Golden Boy. I can imagine the prickly hermit jokes spawning already.”

“I’ll have you know that if there _was_ a prickly hermit, I would make the best one.” Harry tossed the pebble in his hand for a bit. “Besides. Tending to those plants gives me something to do.”

“Isn’t that what house-elves are for?”

“ _You_ redid the gardens at the Manor. Didn’t that give you some sort of satisfaction?”

Malfoy pursed his lips as he considered it. “I suppose. However, I don’t remember you enjoying Herbology much.”

“Well, it helps when what you’re growing isn’t trying to eat or kill you.”

Harry faced the lake. He pulled back his arm and tossed the pebble across the water. It skipped five times easily before it sank into the lake’s depths. “Some of them have bloomed early this year,” he continued, “and they’re very pretty. But two of them haven’t bloomed once since I got them. I asked Neville about it and he told me, _‘They’ll bloom when they’re ready to, Harry. You can’t rush these things.’_ But I guess I’m stubborn and impatient.”

He realized he had said more than Malfoy had probably asked for and blushed a bit in embarrassment. Glancing at the blond, Harry was both relieved and surprised to find that Malfoy wasn’t laughing at him.

“I think it’s charming,” the pure-blood admitted. He looked away from Harry and out towards the spot where the pebble sank. “I don’t think anyone would have pegged you as the sort to take care of _plants_ of all things. Dragons, sure. Odd Kneazles, probably. But not something that doesn’t serve a purpose other than to simply _grow_.”

Harry gave a small half-smile. “That’s what I like about them…their simplicity.”

**XXXX**

Draco felt his gaze soften as he watched Potter prowl about for a new pebble to throw. All these little facts he was learning about Potter were…

He felt like he was being introduced to the softer sides of the Boy Who Lived. The little things that made Potter truly _Potter (_ and not the Blessed Savior of the Wizarding World that everyone thought him to be) were slowly coming into the light. Of course, all of Potter’s closest friends probably knew that he was good at skipping stones or that he collected succulents or that he was insufferably cute.

_No, that’s not right_ , Draco thought stubbornly. _Potter isn’t_ cute _. He’s annoying and loud and always ready to lash out at any –_

Potter found a pebble and stood up. He held it in his palm and offered it to Draco. “Do you want to try?”

The pure-blood went to roll his eyes and brush Potter off but the innocent look in the Chosen One’s eyes gave him pause. Potter was looking at him without a single ounce of judgment or prejudice. Those emerald orbs were wide and hopeful.

_Cute._

Giving an irritated huff just for show, Draco reached out to retrieve the pebble. His fingertips brushed against Potter’s palm as they closed around the stone and a spark went through him. He was briefly reminded of when they danced together. Quickly, Draco moved his hand back and away from Potter’s touch. It would do him no good to fixate on how nice Potter’s hands would probably feel on other parts of his skin.

Turning away from Potter to hide his face, Draco pulled back his arm and tossed the pebble at the lake.

It sunk with one sad splash.

Potter chuckled behind him and Draco felt the tips of his ears burn.

“I hope you’re much more graceful when you’re in the water than when you’re skipping stones,” Potter teased him as he bent down to pick up another pebble. “Here. Have another go at it.”

Not wanting to be outdone by Potter, Draco took the offered pebble without focusing on Potter’s touch. He chucked it at the lake and watched it skip twice before sinking.

“We’ll have to work on that.” Potter was trying to hide a grin and it infuriated Draco. He wondered how many skips he could get if he tossed Potter’s body across the lake.

Probably only one.

**XXXX**

Harry blushed when his stomach chose that moment to let out an obnoxious growl. The sun was starting to set and it was a harsh reminder that he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“You want to grab a bite to eat? It’ll be my treat,” Malfoy offered.

Shaking his head, Harry replied, “You’ve done way too much today as it is for me. I think it would be better just to eat back at Grimmauld Place if that’s alright with you. Less people to interact with.”

Malfoy nodded in understanding. “I’ve never had Potter Cuisine before. Hopefully it’s edible.”

“Prick. My cooking is delicious.”

Malfoy gave him a skeptical look.

**XXXX**

Now that he knew he was allowed access to the townhouse, Draco agreed to Apparate inside of the building while Potter Apparated outside of it. Hopefully it would grant the illusion of Potter returning to his house alone in case any nosey reporters were lurking about on the street.

Draco appeared in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. His eyes fell on the tapestry that he and Potter had stood in front of before they left for their breather.

“So much for spending time with bachelorettes,” he muttered to the elegant script that adorned his mother’s name. He knew that she wouldn’t approve of him spending so much time with Potter if she knew that he harbored romantic and sexual _feelings_ for the hero. But Potter had needed his help. Surely that warranted Draco avoiding the eligible ladies for a day.

_Coward. You’re just being selfish._

He refused to look at his father’s name on the wall.

Potter called for him from downstairs and he moved to join him. Responsibilities and family tapestries could be put aside until tomorrow.

**XXXX**

Grimmauld Place felt less stifling now that Harry had been gone from it for a while. Plus, he knew that he needed to eat something.

As he and Malfoy began to make their way down the staircase that led to the kitchen in the basement, Harry started to say, “Make yourself at –” but he stopped as a sudden thought crossed his mind abruptly. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He wasn’t sure where the thought had suddenly come from but it made him pause halfway down the stairs, with his foot posed in the air to land on the next step, with his mouth open in surprise, as he looked at the back of Malfoy’s head.

The blond must have realized that Harry wasn’t following him because he stopped in his descent and turned. “What is it?”

“Would…would this place have been yours?”

“What?”

“Grimmauld Place. It was in the Black family for generations until Sirius left it to me. Would… _should_ this have been yours?”

Both of Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. “You never thought of that?”

“No,” Harry confessed, feeling oddly stupid. “I was going to say, ‘Make yourself at home,’ but this _could_ have been your home…right?” Malfoy _was_ the heir to the Malfoy and Black family fortunes since Bellatrix hadn’t had kids and Andromeda had been cast out. That would mean that Grimmauld Place should have gone to him!

Malfoy gave him an odd look. “You’re very strange, Potter.”

“I just…I mean…fuck. I never thought of this before.”

“Well, before you give yourself a stroke, I have the Manor. Why would I need Grimmauld Place as well?”

“It’s undetectable except by people who have been here before. That doesn’t appeal to you?”

“I can escape the press just fine by staying in the Manor. I don’t need this place also.” He said it with a tone of finality and turned to finish walking down the stairs.

Harry had no choice but to follow after him. “But pure-bloods love their stuff. Isn’t it, like, a major rule to keep things in the family line?”

“Your sudden concern is rather charming but I assure you that there’s nothing in this house that I want from you, Potter. Now. What is on the menu for dinner?”

Biting his lip, Harry knew that Malfoy wanted to drop the subject but he still felt weird about it. Maybe it was just a topic for another day…?

He took off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. The rather cavernous room hadn’t changed much since Kreacher had cleaned it up for the Order to use many years ago. “Um. Well…have you ever had butternut squash pasta?”

When Malfoy shook his head, Harry smiled, and all thoughts of proper ownership of the townhouse disappeared. It was one of his favorite dishes that Molly had taught him how to make and he was more than happy to feed Malfoy with it.

“Perfect.”

“What can I help with?” Malfoy asked, taking off his outer robes and draping them elegantly over the back of a kitchen chair.

Instead of fixating on an undressing Malfoy, Harry turned away from the blond and started rifling through cabinets. “There’s some liquor towards the back of the room, there. Fancy picking something out?”

He heard Malfoy stride across the stone tiles of the kitchen and took a moment to breathe.

_You’ve got this. You can do it. Remember all that Molly taught you about cooking and you probably_ won’t _poison him._

**XXXX**

Potter’s ‘liquor cabinet’ was more like an abyss. Almost six feet wide and reaching from floor-to-ceiling, the massive shelving unit held various types of wines, hard liquors, holiday mixers, spritzers, shot bottles of questionable substances, and four bottles of champagne.

“So this is how you cope.”

Potter must have heard him because he laughed from across the kitchen. The sound tickled something inside of Draco and he refused to let it fester.

“Don’t kid yourself,” Potter called back. “Most of that stuff came with the house. The only bottles I’ve acquired since then are the three bottles of Fireball, two wines that Ginny got me, and a bottle of gin from my cousin.”

Draco reached for the wine shelf and pulled out a bottle that dated back at least ten years. “I can’t believe you haven’t drank this stuff.”

Potter shrugged from across the room. He had finished scooping the innards out of the squash and was dicing the remaining bits. “It’s weird drinking alone.”

_That’s never stopped me,_ Draco thought bitterly as he brought the Moscato over to Potter to observe. It wasn’t terribly high in percentage, which he figured Potter would appreciate. The dark-haired hero nodded his approval and Draco set the bottle on the table behind them. Grabbing a pot from a nearby shelf, Draco set to work boiling the water and preparing the pasta while Potter worked on the butternut squash sauce.

Kreacher suddenly appeared behind Draco and he tried not to spill the water. The house-elves in the Manor knew better than to startle him with their disappearing/reappearing act. “Does Master require anything?”

“Can you turn on the radio?” Potter asked. “My hands are dirty.”

The house-elf bowed low before doing as Potter requested. Muggle rock music played softly out of the machine. Kreacher, no longer being needed, disappeared to another part of the house.

“I think one of my coworkers likes this band,” Draco said, recognizing the tune of the song that played. “He’s a big fan of…I forget the name...”

“Guns N’ Roses?” Potter supplied. “My cousin loves them.”

“Do you two still talk?”

Potter shrugged as he poured the sauce into a pan. “It’s gotten easier. He has twins now.”

“Have you met them?”

Potter nodded and a smile touched his lips. “Yeah. They’re really something. It’s…honestly freaky seeing someone like him reproduce and have sweet kids. I mean, they’re not even a year old but they smile at everything and just seem…I don’t know…really kind? I know it sounds dumb.”

Draco shrugged as he stirred the pasta in. “My father was a right bastard and I turned into a model of sainthood.”

Potter laughed again.

Enjoying the sound, Draco smiled and knocked his shoulder against Potter’s. It was easy, being like this, _talking_ like this.

And then the song changed and Potter’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I love this one,” he told Draco with a laugh. “Whenever we go on long trips, I insist that it’s on the playlist. Ginny always tries to turn it off as soon as it comes on. She hates hearing me belt it obnoxiously in the car.”

A million questions passed through Draco’s mind but he went with the first one that stuck. “You drive?”

“Usually Ron does. But I know _how_ to, if that’s what you’re asking. Sometimes it’s nicer taking the scenic route somewhere than just Apparating everywhere.”

“I can’t imagine being that inconvenient.”

Potter smirked at him. “We like going to a lot of Muggle places that make it difficult to Apparate without breaking some major law. It takes longer, sure, but it gives us a chance to bond and spend more time together.”

Draco was quiet as he pondered this. Maybe driving wasn’t as abhorrent as he had once thought it to be if it meant getting the opportunity to spend more time with Potter.

**XXXX**

They worked on the finishing touches of the meal while Potter hummed in the background. The noise was soothing and Draco wanted to lean into it. He wondered what Potter sounded like when he sang. Smirking to himself, Draco half-hoped Potter was tone-deaf. It would be an ironic source of personal victory for Draco if that, of all things, was the one thing that Potter sucked at.

Personally, Draco considered himself capable of holding a tune quite well.

But there was no way in hell he was going to let Potter know that.

The Chosen One mixed their meal together while Draco took out two wine glasses to serve the Moscato in. He corked the bottle and put it in the refrigerator to keep it cool while Potter added the finishing touches of Parmesan cheese and parsley. Draco went to seat their glasses on the table but Potter shook his head.

“We’ll eat upstairs. This room is too empty for just the two of us.”

Draco went to pick up his plate when Potter jerked his head and the cordless radio lifted itself from the counter. Mesmerized, Draco watched in awe as the radio followed Potter up the stairs.

He wondered if he was ever going to tire of Potter’s wandless abilities.

**XXXX**

An old bedroom on the second floor had been converted into a sort of living room. There was a television set against one wall and a large couch with two armchairs on either side of it for lounging in. Bookshelves and trunks were pressed against the opposite wall behind the furniture. The walls weren’t covered in wallpaper like many of the other rooms; they were painted a soft blue color to match the blue pillows on the couch.

Potter rested his wine glass on the table in front of the couch as he sat down with his right leg tucked under him. He held his bowl close and seemed to feed off of its warmth. The radio floated over and plopped down gently on the table by his glass.

Draco mirrored his position on the couch. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal not made by house-elves in…well, probably ever.”

Potter blew gently on his food. His eyes tracked the motion of the steam. “Mrs. Weasley got me into cooking a few years ago. I was hanging around the Burrow a lot with not much to do and she handed me a spoon and got me going.”

“Without house-elves to order around, I had to learn how to cook for myself when I was in Germany. It gave a bunch of the Aurors quite the chuckle to see me struggle with basic directions. I couldn’t boil water properly for two months.”

“You learned, though. That’s what matters.” Potter speared a couple rigatonis with his fork. “When my cousin went to college, he said that most of his roommates hadn’t ever cooked anything before. They all had to kind of learn how to survive together.”

Draco watched him take a bite of his dinner and moan happily around the pasta. Something inside of the blond jumped at the noise.

“Try some,” Potter insisted around his mouthful.

Blowing on his pasta, Draco waited for it to cool a bit before he took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully before swallowing.

“Well? What do you think?” Potter asked impatiently.

“You just learned how to make this?”

“Few months ago.”

“I hate you.”

Potter chuckled. He seemed pleased with how much Draco enjoyed the meal. And enjoy it he did! The pasta was _heavenly_.

**XXXX**

Harry had to admit, it felt good getting praised by Malfoy for something as simple as cooking. He reached for his wine glass and took a sip. “Cooking might not be your thing but you seem to have a taste for wine.”

“Among other things,” Malfoy replied cryptically. “Is your stomach feeling better now that it’s got some food in it?”

“Definitely. Thanks again for…well…”

The pure-blood raised his wine glass in reply. “Thank _you_ for a brilliant meal and good company. I wasn’t expecting the day to go like this but…I’m glad it did.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Malfoy.”

The statement made the blond’s cheeks color and Malfoy took another swig of his wine.

Harry smiled.

**XXXX**

When they had finished eating, Draco watched as Potter spelled their dishes away. They sat comfortably on the couch, enjoying the music that played and the wine coursing through them. Potter had brought out the bottle from downstairs and they had had a few glasses between the two of them.

“Thank you for dinner,” Draco said politely. “It really was delicious. I never knew you could cook like that.”

Potter pulled his legs up under him and turned his body so that his cheek rested on the back of the couch. Draco thought he looked very cozy. All he needed was a blanket and he would probably be asleep rather quickly.

“It’s not that difficult with enough practice. But I’m glad you liked it.” A comfortable silence passed with nothing to be heard except the soft sound of the radio. “I really liked dancing with you,” Potter confessed sleepily. “At your party, I mean.”

Draco felt something pull at his heart strings. He couldn’t help but let his gaze wander over Potter’s tussled hair and the jeans that hugged the hero’s legs. “I enjoyed that as well.” His voice sounded a little gruff and he cleared his throat.

Potter’s eyes sparkled in the room’s lighting. “We should do it again.”

Draco froze at the question. But Potter didn’t look like he regretted what he said. He was giving Draco an earnest, easy smile. The pure-blood decided to try and aim for blasé as he said, “Well, if I host another ball, you’ll know where to find me.” Maybe if he brushed it off then Potter wouldn’t persist.

But Potter was Potter and of course he had to make things difficult. The Chosen One quickly stood up – somewhat wobbly – and Draco watched as the table moved itself back and gave Potter the space to stand in front of Draco. With a laugh, Potter held out a hand and said, “Oh, come on.”

The blond’s gaze traveled slowly from Potter’s offered hand, up his arm, across Potter’s chest, and up to his face. “What are you doing, Potter?” he asked carefully.

“Why wait?”

Draco felt his stomach plunge. “You’re joking.”

“I thought you liked dancing.”

_I do but with you it’s…distracting…not a good idea…too close…_

“ _You_ want to dance with _me_ ,” Draco clarified.

Potter shifted on his feet, moving his free hand to rest on his hip. “Sure. Why not?”

The question sounded so simple but to Draco it was incredibly complicated. He knew that he was falling for Potter. He knew that he didn’t want to stop it, relatives and expectations be damned. He wanted to kiss every one of Potter’s tears away. He wanted to share every meal like this. He wanted…he wanted…

“You shouldn’t do this with me unless it’s for show,” he blurted. Maybe he had had too much wine. “I know _you_ may not know anything about proper etiquette but it dictates that male pure-bloods only dance together if there’s a party or spectators or –”

“Or they want to?”

Draco frowned. Potter had blushed like a virgin at the very idea of dancing with Draco at the party but here he was, freely offering to take Draco into his arms. Was Potter just that comfortable when he was away from other people? Did Potter see a difference between dancing in private and dancing in public? Draco certainly did. At the party, it had been a display to show his equality with Potter. _This_ …this was entirely _different_.

Potter had the audacity to shrug and smile at him. “I don’t care about my status _or_ what people would say if they saw us. I liked dancing with you in front of people and I’m sure I’d like it now that it’s just us. I like dancing with _you_ , Malfoy.”

Draco wondered if there was a deeper meaning to Potter’s words. He hated himself for _wanting_ there to be one.

**XXXX**

The intensity of Malfoy’s gaze was enough to make Harry pause. He had thought it was a brilliant idea asking Malfoy to dance with him but now he wasn’t so sure. He had asked Malfoy to dance because…well…he wanted to. It was as simple as that. The idea had entered his mind quickly and he had acted upon it just as quickly. He hadn’t put any more thought into it about what Malfoy might say other than a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

But a simple answer didn’t seem to be so simple for Malfoy.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. His chest filled with worry as his extended hand fell back to his side, untaken.

**XXXX**

“Nothing.” _Liar._ “I should just be heading back to the Manor soon and…dancing with you would prolong that.” Draco knew he was grasping at straws but he had to get out of there before he caved. Potter was too tempting with his easy smiles and delicious food and tasty wine and beautiful eyes…

**XXXX**

_He’s keeping something from me._ But Harry wasn’t sure what. If Malfoy didn’t want to dance with him, then why didn’t he just say so? Why was he making excuses to leave? Did he not want to hurt his feelings?

_Am I taking this too personally?_

**XXXX**

The radio was playing an acoustic version of a song that Hank could often be heard singing in the department. It was slow and melodious and tempted Draco to take Potter’s hand.

“Are you sure?”

_No_ , he thought in answer to Potter’s question. The realization was harsh and it spurred Draco to stand. “I should be going.” He needed to put more space between them. The wine had loosened his tongue and he was nervous he might confess to Potter when he knew he shouldn’t. Not meeting Potter’s gaze, he drew his wand and summoned his outer robes from the kitchen. He couldn’t stay here any longer.

**XXXX**

He didn’t want Malfoy to leave like this. The blond seemed upset but Harry couldn’t figure out about what.

“If this is about dancing with me, you don’t have to,” he found himself saying. “It was just an offer.” Although it _did_ sting to be rejected. “I just thought it would be fun.”

Malfoy stiffened but he didn’t say anything.

A sudden thought struck Harry and before he could stuff it to the back of his mind, he asked, “Is this because I like men?”

Malfoy briefly froze at the question and his eyes flew to meet Harry’s. The pure-blood’s voice sounded strangled as he asked, “What?”

Harry frowned and shifted on his feet. “I like blokes. Some people feel funny about hanging out with or dancing with guys who like guys. I don’t know…I thought maybe I had weirded you out?”

Malfoy blinked at him. He opened his mouth once before closing it.

**XXXX**

Of all the revelations Potter could have made in that moment, Draco never expected it to be _that_. His thought process came to an abrupt halt. His hands paused in their buttoning of his robes and he simply stood there, gaping at Potter. Eventually, his mouth decided to run with the first coherent thought his brain provided. “I’m _gay_ , Potter. Why would I be uncomfortable about dancing with a guy?”

“So is it dancing with _me_ that you’ve got a problem with?”

Malfoy didn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to tell Potter that he wanted nothing more than to pull the hero into his arms and shag him senseless?

“I didn’t know you liked men,” he said instead.

“Congratulations – I consider you one of my inner circle now.”

Malfoy knew the somewhat flippant tone in Potter’s voice was there purely because the Chosen One felt embarrassed and confused. His arms fell to his sides with a few buttons still left open. He had always _hoped_ , always _wished_ , rather selfishly, that there might be a _chance_ that Potter would swing that way.

But now the knowledge was a burden and Draco turned away. “Thank you for sharing that with me…but I really must go.”

_Before I do something stupid._

**XXXX**

Harry was miffed by Malfoy’s dismissive reaction to his admission. He had meant it when he said that only his closest friends knew the truth. Was Malfoy biphobic? No, that couldn’t be it. But then _why_ was he in such a hurry to leave? It didn’t make sense to him.

“Malfoy, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

Malfoy gave him an impatient sigh as if the last of his nerves were being frayed. When his gaze met Harry’s, the pure-blood looked so _tired_.  “I shouldn’t be…I can’t drink wine with you and dance with you in the seclusion of your own home. It’s improper and…and I can’t.”

“Why not? I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

**XXXX**

Draco sighed. His brain wasn’t thinking clearly. His traitorous gaze landed on Potter’s lips. It would be so easy to lean in and claim a kiss. It would be so easy to just _give in_. But Draco knew that he couldn’t.

Knowing that Potter wouldn’t give up without hearing a solid answer, Draco resigned himself to telling Potter half of the truth. Maybe it would be enough to get Potter off of the trail.

“You’re not a pure-blood and you can’t give me children.”

The Dark Mark remained quiet and steady as Draco took a step back to put some physical distance between them.

“I want to be your… _friend_ but…I can’t sway from tradition. Some things can’t change.” His gaze fell to the floor. “It’s improper to be this close to you when I should be drinking wine with and dancing with _women_. I…can’t, Potter.”

**XXXX**

_Can’t what?_

Harry was even more confused. “You didn’t have a problem drinking with me in Germany or dancing with me at your party. Does it only matter to you if people see us together?” He knew that they had both been Glamoured in Germany but he wasn’t going to point that out.

“Potter, you don’t get it.”

“Then _explain_ , Malfoy. I _want_ to understand what’s happening here.”

“I can’t date you, Potter!”

The words hit Harry like a slap to the face. His brow furrowed into deeper confusion. “What?”

**XXXX**

Draco closed his eyes.

This wasn’t happening.

This conversation was a nightmare and at any moment he would wake up and find one of his house-elves bringing him breakfast.

“I can’t date you,” Draco repeated softly. He was struggling to keep his composure when he just wanted to break down out of frustration. “You’re not a pure-blood and you can’t help me continue the Malfoy lineage. Therefore, I cannot…date…you.” He didn’t want to give Potter the chance to respond. “I need to leave. Thank you for dinner.” He drew his wand and, before Potter could reach him, Disapparated back to the safety and seclusion of the Manor. When his feet collided with the floor of his bedroom, Draco sank down against his bed and buried his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've drafted two chapters that have very different events happening with a similar cause. One involves something happening to Lucius and the other involves something happening to Draco. I'm not sure which one I'm set on because I really love both and can tie both events in equally but I'm working on it. There's a scene between Draco and Harry and another scene between Narcissa and Lucius that I've written and both made me cry ugly tears while writing them SO...who knows what I'll do? *cue ominous music* No, but this fic WILL have a happy ending so no worries. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. Your words have been so humbling and amazing and I love all of them <3


	11. Legacy

“Instead of moping, why don’t you just go to the Manor and sort this out like an adult?”

“He doesn’t want to date me. He made that pretty clear. What am I supposed to go there and ask for?”

“A romp in the hay, I’d imagine.”

Harry glared at her. “It’s not like that.”

“Not with that attitude. Besides, he’s just being stubborn. He can’t help the fact that a sex god sent him into a gay panic.”

“Since when am _I_ considered a sex god?”

“ _Witch Weekly_ had a marvelous spread about you a few months ago,” Luna chimed in from her spot on her favorite armchair. She was reading her _Quibbler_ upside-down and only contributed occasionally to the conversation.

“Merlin, I just wanted to dance!” Harry exclaimed, running a hand through his matted hair.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You were hoping to use that as foreplay before you invited him to the sack and you know it.”

“I…!” Harry sighed as he realized she was right. “Okay, maybe that’s what I wanted but I didn’t _realize_ that’s what I wanted! I was really tipsy and everything happened really fast and –”

“Oh _please_ ,” Ginny interrupted. “It sounded good in your head at the time. _Anything_ sounds good when you’ve had four glasses of wine. I’d wrestle a werewolf if someone asked me to after four glasses of wine.”

“Remus was a lovely professor,” Luna muttered.

Ginny ignored her. “I’m just saying, Harry, you’re not always the most observant fuck when it comes to _feelings_. Malfoy’s got all these stupid pure-blood rules and regulations to live by. If he doesn’t want to shirk them then he’s not going to.”

“I fucked it up by pushing him is what you mean.”

“He’s a prick, Harry. As far as I’m concerned, you should cut your losses and move on.”

“Draco’s not a prick,” Luna argued.

Harry let his head fall back against the carpet from where he was sprawled in front of their furniture. It was Monday night and he hadn’t gone a moment without thinking about his encounter with Malfoy. “It just sucks,” he continued, “because _I_ fucked it up. We were having such a good time before I asked him to dance.”

“Draco isn’t used to physical contact,” Luna reminded him without moving her gaze from her paper. “While I’m sure he probably _wanted_ to share that intimate moment with you, he knew that he _shouldn’t_ because of who he is. Ginny is right. You sent him into a gay panic, Harry.”

“Aha!” Ginny shouted, pumping a fist into the air triumphantly. “Take that!”

Harry huffed and rolled over to face away from them.

Ginny poked his back with her foot. “You should still talk to him if it’s bothering you that much.”

“I guess…”

“Come on. If you’re stubborn enough to not move on then the least you can do is send him a letter or something. Wasn’t that what you guys were doing before your dates?”

“They weren’t dates.” Harry turned back to face her. “He was right, though. His entire family’s history thrives on him finding someone to produce kids with. Biologically, that’s not me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Even if I did write to him and we tried to salvage this…even if we did…date…and it worked out for a while, he would want kids and…I don’t. We couldn’t even _adopt_ because I just don’t want them.”

Luna finally looked up over the top of her paper at him.

Ginny slid off the couch to lie down next to him. She tilted her body until her cheek was resting against his shoulder on the carpet. “For what it’s worth,” she told him, “I know you would make an amazing dad.”

He sighed and rested his head against hers. It was a sensitive topic for him and she knew that. All of his closest friends knew it. “I know _you_ believe that.  But...I can’t, Gin. Between me and my parents, the Potter family lineage is famous enough. I wouldn’t want that for my kid. Imagine if he sucks at Quidditch,” he tried to joke.

Ginny smirked. “That would _definitely_ suck.” She moved to lie on her side and consider him. “You know…you don’t _have_ to date him. Like I said, you could just shag it out a bit.”

“Harry’s not the one-night stand type of guy,” Luna commented, returning her gaze to the paper. “Everyone knows _that_.”

Ginny _tsk_ -ed and rolled flat onto her back again. “He’d let William Moseley blow him in an alley.”

“Ginny!” Harry cried.

The redhead chuckled as she tilted her head back to steal a kiss from Luna over the arms of the furniture. “I’m just saying, Harry, if you want to shag him then shag him. The… _feelings_ and emotional garbage will sort itself out later, if you want.”

“Or it will be an utter disaster,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have come on so strong so soon after an attack either. The whole thing was a fucked up disaster on my part. I’m amazed he even made it that late in the day with me.”

“Harry James Potter,” Ginny announced in her best impression of Hermione, “you are the most wonderful wizard in this world and anyone who scores your fancy should consider themselves incredibly lucky!”

“Hermione doesn’t sound anything like that,” Luna frowned.

Ginny pouted at her.

“Have you heard anything from Ron?” Harry asked, changing the subject.

Ginny bit her lip as she shook her head. “No, not since before they left. But it’s only been two days. Aurors have been known to be away for months on missions.”

_I don’t think this is a normal mission,_ Harry thought to himself as he stared up at the ceiling. He missed having Ron and Hermione around. They would have helped talk him through the Malfoy Incident and help him figure out what to do.

**XXXX**

Draco was thankful that nobody bothered him about his party on Monday morning when he showed up to work. Even Quina, who had had the most _delightful_ time, took one look at his expression and backed off from even mentioning it. Draco was able to make it to his office in peace and get to work. He had fallen behind on his current project and he had made up his mind to use his time wisely this week. Today there would be no thoughts of Harry Potter, lost opportunities, or broken hearts.

That mentality lasted until lunchtime when he met up with Hank and Quina in Hank’s office and the radio was playing a song from last night. Stopping briefly in his tracks, Draco glared at the radio and wished he could perform wandless magic to make the damn thing explode.

“How’s everyone doing?” Hank asked, unwrapping a massive sandwich and taking a mighty bite out of it. For how skinny the bloke was, Draco wasn’t sure where he hid all of the food he consumed on an almost hourly basis. He wanted Hank’s metabolism (and rumored lack of a refractory period).

“I had a date yesterday,” Quina told them happily as Draco found his feet and moved to sit down beside her. “She works on the second level. Really _vocal_ in the sack. I’m seeing her again next weekend.”

“Louse,” Hank teased around a mouthful of food. It was entirely hypocritical of him since he saw more sexual activity than anyone on the third level combined. “What about you, Draco? Any fun adventures?”

_Fuck._

Draco’s gaze darkened instinctively and Quina rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why you’re upset. Your party was amazing!”

_Here we go._

“The _Prophet_ didn’t think so,” Hank commented. “You pure-bloods are ruining society!” It was, of course, a joke, considering Hank adored them more than he cared to admit.

Rolling her eyes, Quina replied, “That’s because the _Prophet_ is a pile of shite.” She had brought a small container of pasta and blew on it for a moment before digging in. Draco watched her entwine her fork in the noodles and was reminded of his not-date with Potter the previous evening. Frowning, he nearly missed her say, “Don’t worry, Draco. Nobody believes that rubbish anyway.”

**XXXX**

Apparently people _did_ believe that rubbish because the main article in the _Prophet_ continued to focus on the ‘problem’ of Voldemort’s ex-followers being integrated into a society without war. Nearly every article that week focused on the message of not being able to trust ex-Death Eaters.

Draco ignored the glares and suspicious gazes each day he entered the Ministry for work and confined himself to his office. He thought that if he could stay out of the public eye then maybe he would be left alone for a while. It was amazing how people seemed to forget how the Minister of Magic was a pure-blood himself while they glared at Shacklebolt’s employees.

Other than the upsetting articles, the week passed by in something of a sluggish blur. Each day, Draco showed up to work, ran himself ragged until he was too exhausted to move, and collapsed into bed at night without a single thought to spare for Potter and their situation. He didn’t dream at night. He didn’t try to compose an apology letter. He just focused on work. Some days he didn’t eat, other days he had large meals with no consistency. On Wednesday he had an attack at home. On Thursday he was fine and worked himself to exhaustion once more. It became something of an unhealthy routine that Draco knew he needed to power through.

_It’s better this way_ , he told himself repeatedly. _I was getting too close. I need to move on and find someone more in line with what’s expected of me._ The words became a mantra and when he found his mind lingering to thoughts of Potter, he repeated the mantra harshly to himself until he believed it.

But it hurt.

Merlin, did it hurt.

When he wasn’t working and couldn’t fall asleep immediately, he found things to do around the house to keep his mind and body active. He imported new furniture for the rooms that he hadn’t had the time previously to renovate. He organized the Fine China by color and age. He burned the old dining room table and chairs that had once held the members of Voldemort’s elite team of Death Eaters for secret meetings. He made a pile of old clothes that no longer fit him to be donated to the homeless. He organized his collection of books by subject, author, and date of publication. There were tasks around the Manor that had fallen to the wayside and Draco worked diligently to tend to those tasks with pride and determination.

At the behest of his mother, he sent reply letters to the eligible bachelorettes of pure-blood families that had inquired about his availability. In his letters to them he was formal, dignified, and poised. His mother reviewed each of the letters before they were sent.

“These are really…mature,” she told him one night. “Where’s the personality, Draco? I can’t find any trace of the real _you_ in these letters.” But she sent them anyway and he didn’t focus on it. So what if those letters didn’t come close to capturing the ‘real him’? So what if the only letters that had done that had once been addressed to Potter? It didn’t matter. Draco needed to move on and start getting serious about finding a wife.

_This week will be over and time will go on. The weeks will turn into months and soon I’ll be over Potter._

Draco was fine.

He would be fine.

He _was_ fine.

…..He would be fine.

**XXXX**

**Dear Malfoy,**

**~~I’m sorry I asked you to dance.~~ **

**~~I’m sorry I fucked it up.~~ **

**~~Can we talk about this?~~ **

Harry sighed. He had drafted over a dozen letters to Malfoy to try and fix things but none of them seemed to sound right.

**Dear Malfoy,**

**I’m attracted to you. And if you can get past the fact that I’m not a pure-blood and I don’t want children, I would like to go on a proper date with you.**

**-Harry Potter**

He looked at the letter for a long time before he crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage. It was Wednesday night and Malfoy still hadn’t reached out to him.

_Maybe I need to be the bigger person_ , Harry thought. He stared at the garbage can before stubbornly setting it on fire.

**XXXX**

Finally, Friday rolled around. Draco gave himself a pat on the back for making it through the week without writing to Potter. He hadn’t caved. He hadn’t reached out first. He hadn’t made any attempt to fix their failed friendship. Draco had stayed true to his path of becoming a married pure-blood with children and the letters he had sent had paid off. He had a date on Saturday with a young lady who didn’t have maggots in her teeth or an eye patch, so he figured it was something of a win. It was a start, if nothing else.

Draco made his way to his department in the Ministry like normal. He sat down at his desk and began rifling through the research materials he had left out the day before. It was almost eleven when David poked his head in.

“Hey, have you finished examining the Greck case?”

Draco held up the file for him to take back. “Three spells can be used to reverse the curse. Two of them are ancient but can be procured by anyone.”

“Thanks, Draco.”

When David didn’t leave, the blond looked up. “Is there something else that you need?”

His coworker frowned. “It’s just…you’ve seemed different this week. Don’t get me wrong, your work has been perfect, but…I don’t know. You know that you can always come to one of us if there’s something bothering you. We’re a team.”

Draco managed a half-smile of gratitude. “Thanks, David. But it’s nothing.”

“It’s not the articles that the _Prophet_ ’s been writing, is it? Because they’re shite.”

“I’m fine, David.”

His colleague looked at him for a long moment. “Okay…if you’re sure.” He waved to Draco before closing the door behind him and heading back to his own office.

Draco let out a sigh before he picked up a notebook.

There was more work that needed to get done.

**XXXX**

It was almost time to leave. Draco glanced at the clock and wished that he could work through the weekend. But maybe this date would be good for him. At least Elicia knew that they were going on a date. At least _she_ knew of Draco’s intentions and wouldn’t be left guessing. _She_ wouldn’t be misled about what he wanted. Well…Draco figured she would be but it wasn’t the same.

_Guess I just mislead everyone._

Sighing, he figured he would check in with Hank and make sure there wasn’t anything else that he could cram in work-wise before he left for the weekend. He didn’t want to admit that he was looking for something to get him out of this date. He had chosen this and now he had to stick with it.

He was just about to open the door to his office when an explosion rang out down the hall. The blast shattered the glass walls around him and knocked him back. The back and side of his head hit the desk hard before he fell to the ground. He felt heat surge around him as fires from the explosion flared down the halls and through his office. The door came crashing down on top of him as things around him began catching on fire. Pinned by the heavy door, Draco couldn’t move. His ears were ringing from the blast and he couldn’t see past the wood. Blood was running down his forehead and it blinded his vision. His head was pounding. Another blast exploded, this time closer to his office. He could vaguely hear screaming and voices shouting but he couldn’t make out any of the words. New flames were piling on top of the original ones causing destruction. He tried to drag his body out from under the door but it was no good. The weight was too heavy and he was in too much pain to move. Had he been able to think, he would have thought he was burning alive.

He would have wondered if this was how Crabbe felt.

**XXXX**

Harry was humming to himself and checking on the two stubborn succulents that wouldn’t bloom when Luna and Ginny Apparated behind him in Grimmauld Place. Jumping slightly, Harry started to ask, “What –” but Ginny interrupted him.

“Where’s your telly that works?”

Harry Apparated them from the lower level to the room where he had experienced his dinner with Malfoy. Realizing that he hadn’t been in this room since that night, he frowned in recognition as Ginny quickly turned the machine on.

“What’s going on?”

“There were two explosions in the Ministry,” Luna told him somberly as the telly roared to life. Their eyes watched the screen as Ginny put on the news.

“…Unsure if this was a terrorist action,” the dark-haired reporter was saying. “We know that two explosive devices were detonated inside of the Ministry of Magic about fifteen minutes ago. So far two people are confirmed dead and a dozen are injured. At this time we are unclear about the motive behind the attack. We are waiting to find out more information from Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

Behind the reporter, Harry could see throngs of people who had escaped the building. Many of them were bleeding or looking panicked as they searched for loved ones and coworkers among the survivors. A cleanup crew was emerging on the scene to put up shields against prying, Muggle eyes while members of the Ministry flocked to the streets. He thought he saw Shacklebolt among the chaos but the man disappeared into the crowd before he could get a good look.

“Dad’s okay,” Ginny told him without taking her eyes from the screen. “Percy, too. We haven’t heard from Ron or Hermione, though.”

“I don’t see Draco out there,” Harry whispered. The camera was moving back and forth to capture as many people as possible but he didn’t see that familiar head of hair anywhere on the street.

Ginny took his hand. “They’re bringing the injured to St. Mungo’s for emergency treatment.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be visiting the hospital again very soon.

**XXXX**

Two hours later, they still hadn’t learned much more from the reporters on the telly. Mrs. Weasley had called to let them know that Arthur and Percy were indeed safe and back at the Burrow. She had suggested that the three of them join her but Harry had declined the offer.

“Grimmauld is basically impenetrable,” he had told her kindly. “If this was a targeted attack, then I’m safest here.”

Two hours turned into three. When the reporter finally announced which floor of the Ministry the explosions had been detonated on, Harry Disapparated before he could even think twice.

**XXXX**

St. Mungo’s hadn’t changed much in the years since he had been there. Harry showed his ID to the receptionist and had to be properly identified by several high-class Aurors before he was allowed up to the right floor. He saw Narcissa Malfoy standing in the hallway and he ran to her.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he breathlessly greeted. His heart was hammering in his chest. “I saw that his level was the one that…is he alright?”

She glanced at the Aurors that were stationed in the hallway before lowering her voice and replying in a remarkably steady tone, “My son is stable but injured. He…” She took a moment to breathe. “The Minister said that this was a planned attack. He’s caught the people responsible and they’re being held for questioning. He’s in session now with the Wizengamot.”

Harry glanced around and wondered which room was Malfoy’s. “What’s he injured with?”

“It’s not as serious as it could have been,” she told him softly. “The Minister believes this attack was only botched because of a mislabeling with the post.”

“You mean the target was –”

“Draco…yes.”

Harry’s head spun.

“My son was not the only target,” she continued wistfully. She leaned in closer and he could see the redness of her eyes. “Draco’s father…” She sighed and took another breath. “My dear Lucius has been poisoned. And the Manor was bombed.”

“Poisoned? But isn’t he in exile?”

She nodded and glanced again at the nearby Aurors. “The Minister suspects that there is a mole working in the Wizengamot who knew of Lucius’s location and spread that knowledge to those who wish my family harm. Apparently, there is a vendetta against pure-bloods.”

Considering the recent articles he had read about in the _Prophet_ , Harry wasn’t surprised. But he _was_ surprised that someone had been ambitious enough to try and wipe out the Malfoy family in one shot. “Were you hurt?”

“No. The Manor was bombed while I was visiting the Fawleys. Elicia was supposed to have a date with Draco tomorrow and I was getting reacquainted with her parents.”

Ignoring that tidbit of information for a later time, Harry asked, “Does he know about…well, any of it?”

She shook her head. “He has been unconscious since they brought him in. They scanned him and probed him and my darling son looked like a juvenile science experiment when I arrived.” Her voice shook and she had to focus to level it out again. “It is a miracle they found him in time. I am told that two of his coworkers dragged his body out of there. They’re not even pure-bloods! They…they didn’t have to do that. They risked their lives for my son when they’re...I…” She blotted at her cheeks with a handkerchief. Despite the slight dampness on her cheeks and the coloring of her eyes, she looked incredibly composed. Her hair was together and her robes were neat and ironed. It occurred to Harry that she was one steadfast woman. “I have been asked to remain here, in the careful watch of the Aurors, until I can be escorted to a safe haven for the duration of this mess. But I am worried about my son. I can’t leave him, Harry.”

He thought of how Mrs. Weasley would have taken down the entire Auror department by herself to get to any of her children if they were in Draco’s spot. A mother’s love outweighed any personal unsteadiness he currently held in regard to Draco. Meeting her eyes, he promised her, “I’ll keep him safe.”

“Thank you.” In a moment rare of a Malfoy family member, Narcissa looked truly grateful.

**XXXX**

Narcissa watched Harry enter her son’s room and wished that they could be free of their past. The _Prophet_ ’s words had been horrid, painting Draco as some kind of false hero who only wanted to show repentance to gain favor. Narcissa knew her son. She knew that Draco had become something of a tortured soul who needed to prove himself as deserving of trust. It was terrible. He was _already_ so wonderful and deserving. She had thought that maybe she had been able to convey that to him during their conversation in the dining room, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Mrs. Malfoy?”

She turned and saw an Auror approach. He was wearing the robes of the highest level of Auror-class. His black hair was buzzed and his chocolate eyes went briefly to the floor as he bowed to her out of respect.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Galen Morales,” he told her, showing her his badge and credentials. He had a slight Welsh accent and his dark skin crinkled around his eyes. “I’m ready to escort you to your husband at the request of Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“Forgive me if I seem untrusting,” she told him coolly, “but it is because I am.”

“I understand, ma’am. I have been ordered to drink truth serum before you and tell you of your husband’s situation. After that, I will bring you to him.”

She relaxed her shoulders and brought herself to her full height. She had always been good at intimidating those younger than her, though she was nothing compared to Bellatrix. “I will summon a vial of truth serum to know that you have not tampered with it.”

Galen bowed again.

She summoned a vial and held it out to him. “Drink it.”

Nodding, he took the bottle and downed it quickly, waiting for her to ask her questions.

“Now,” she began, keeping a scrutinous eye on him, “tell me of my husband’s condition.”

**XXXX**

The room had no windows, no telly, and no radio. The walls were an ugly mauve color. Machines surrounded two of the bed’s sides, keeping track of Malfoy’s vitals and heart rate. The bed itself was simple without any fancy drapes. Closing the door behind him, Harry stepped further into the room. Although the lights were dimmed, he could clearly make out the body on the bed. The sheets were pulled up to Malfoy’s armpits with only his bandaged arms and gauze-wrapped forehead visible. Malfoy’s hair had been cut short and a dark bruise covered his cheek.

The pure-blood’s eyes were closed.

Moving to sit in the empty chair beside the bed, Harry let the thought, _He’s alive_ , repeat through his mind as the heart monitor beeped steadily in the background. While the noise had once annoyed him, he found it comforting in this moment. It reassured him that Malfoy truly _was_ living and breathing.

For a long moment, Harry just stared at Malfoy’s face, bruised and probably once-bloodied from the attack, taking in each and every feature from the blond’s chapped lips to the neat wrapping job on his forehead.

_He could have died._

“Merlin,” he whispered.

Malfoy didn’t stir.

Harry’s eyes caught sight of a chart on the table beside him and he picked it up. From what he could make out, Malfoy had a few fractured ribs, some burn marks, and a possible concussion.

_Thank fuck it’s nothing fatal._

When he placed the chart down and looked again at Malfoy, he was startled to find the pure-blood’s eyes open. Malfoy’s blinks were slow and he didn’t turn his head. Harry slowly stood up and hovered over Malfoy so that the blond could see him properly without moving his neck. Those grey eyes landed on him but they were unfocused.

“Hey,” Harry whispered. His voice was rough with emotion and he tried to clear his throat.

Malfoy stared blankly back at him. The pure-blood’s lips made a sound as they parted but he didn’t say anything.

Harry held his breath. He wasn’t sure if Malfoy was even coherent enough to understand anything he said.

Malfoy’s vision suddenly blurred as he started to cry.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Harry whispered to him soothingly. He reached out for a box of tissues on the table beside the chart and gently brushed Malfoy’s cheek with the fabric. In this moment, what had happened on Sunday didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to Harry was that Malfoy was suffering. “You’re okay, Malfoy.”

The blond winced when Harry gently padded the bruise on his cheek.

The tears didn’t stop.

“You’re – you’re okay,” Harry repeated. Even though Malfoy _was_ going to be fine, the earlier fear finally seeped in and became something tangible. Harry found his eyes filling with tears. He had managed to keep himself together at Grimmauld Place and in front of Mrs. Malfoy but now, seeing Malfoy cry, he couldn’t put on a show any longer. He tried to blink the tears away. How would Malfoy believe him if he started crying? “You’re okay. It’s just – it’s just a concussion and some fractured ribs and burns. You’re going to be okay, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s eyes closed but Harry watched him turn his left hand palm-up. Without hesitation, Harry slid his hand into Malfoy’s and entwined their fingers together. The pain he had felt every day this past week when he hadn’t received any word from Malfoy suddenly didn’t matter as much as taking Malfoy’s hand in his own. “You’re going to be okay,” he repeated softly to Malfoy as well as to himself. Harry continued to cry even as Malfoy drifted off into a deep sleep. The frustration at not reaching out to Malfoy sooner and having this happen was too much for him to deal with. He was angry at himself for waiting and he was angry at the people responsible for doing this and he was angry at Malfoy for not reaching out to him. After what felt like an hour, the anger melted into sorrow. His thumb was rubbing against Malfoy’s. “I shouldn’t have pushed you,” he whispered to Malfoy’s sleeping body, knowing that there wasn’t a chance in hell the blond could hear or understand him. The words came tumbling from his lips.  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Malfoy. I’m so fucking stubborn. I should have written to you. I – I shouldn’t have waited.”

Malfoy didn’t respond.

**XXXX**

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, watching over Malfoy as he slept, until a doctor came in to check on Malfoy. He was a tall man with strawberry-blond hair and a leather bracelet around his wrist that was covered in etchings of cats. His smile was kind and he paid no mind to Harry as the Chosen One quickly released Malfoy’s hand out of embarrassment for Malfoy.

“Ah! Mr. Potter! Wonderful to finally meet you in person. I’m Doctor Anders. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry reached out and shook the man’s hand. “You’re treating Malfoy?”

“I’m not sure ‘treating’ is the right word since there’s only so much we can do for fractured ribs and a concussion, but, yes, in a manner of speaking. I was responsible for healing the worst of his burn damage. He looked quite different when he first came in here, I can tell you that.”

Harry’s stomach tightened. “It was bad, then?”

“Oh, yes. Quite the miracle his friends dragged him out of there before he burned completely.”

“What about them?”

“They were treated for minor injuries and then sent home to recover. A David-something and a Hank-something I think…? Very nice boys. Terribly concerned about young Draco here.” The doctor began going through the motions of checking Malfoy’s vitals and injuries. “Terrible about those lost to the explosions. We, as doctors, try to save everyone but…” He briefly sighed as he wrote a few things down on a clipboard. “It’s a shame.”

“Do you know anything more? How many are dead? Is Mrs. Malfoy still around?”

“Madame Malfoy has been escorted to her husband’s location by a trusted Auror. She is safe. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the four members of the Ministry who lost their lives to this attack.”

“Was it an inside job? It must have been. Does the Minister know anything?”

Dr. Anders smiled gently at Harry. “I’m sure he will be here to answer any and all of your questions as soon as he can. But the Wizengamot is still in session. That’s all I know.” He looked back at Malfoy. “Besides knowing that this young man _will_ pull through.”

Hearing a medical professional tell him that Malfoy was going to be okay meant the world to Harry and he suddenly smiled with relief. “Thank you, Doctor.”

The man studied Harry for a moment. “I’ve given my staff explicit permission to allow you to stay for as long as you like past visiting hours. I said to them, ‘If Aurors are expected to flock the halls of my hospital then Harry Potter can stay as long as he likes.’ The board wasn’t too happy with that but they can stuff it…pardon my French.”

Harry was surprised. “Thank you. That’s…that’s very generous of you.”

The doctor waved him off. “My daughter Marian’s favorite professor at Hogwarts is a Mr. Neville Longbottom. She would consider it a personal offense if a friend of his was not allowed to stand by another friend in need.” He adjusted his bracelet before giving Harry a final smile. “I must attend to my other patients but I’ll be back in a few hours. Please do not hesitate to ring one of my nurses if you need anything.”

After he had left, Harry squeezed Malfoy’s hand reassuringly. He hoped the blond could feel it.

**XXXX**

Around midnight, Kreacher appeared with a bag full of hygiene products, snacks, and several changes of clothes for Harry. It took the house-elf over an hour to get through vetting by the Aurors. When he finally made it to Harry, he informed him that Ginny and Luna had gone to the Burrow to be with the Weasleys.

“Any word from Ron or Hermione?”

Kreacher shook his head. “I will let Master know when they contact him at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry frowned, wondering why nobody had heard from his best friends.

**XXXX**

The weekend passed slowly. Harry stayed by Malfoy’s side, making sure that the only people who entered his room were Dr. Anders, a few trusted nurses, and one or two Aurors who needed to report back to the Ministry. As far as he knew, by Sunday morning, the Wizengamot was still in session. The press hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the hospital. Harry checked the paper but neither the _Prophet_ nor the _Quibbler_ had anything concrete to say about the attack except to announce the names of the deceased. No post was allowed to enter Malfoy’s room. It didn’t stop him from receiving a letter smuggled in by Kreacher.

**Hey Harry,**

**We’re all doing okay. Dad and Percy are fine. Mom’s ready to storm the Ministry and choke out whoever let those bombs get into the building, but otherwise, we’re all good.**

**Charlie, Bill, and Fleur are all home. Wait till you see Fleur. She’s pregnant! It’s crazy that I’m going to be an aunt!**

**Kreacher told us where you are. I’m glad he’s okay. I know, I know, you’ll say you don’t believe that but you also didn’t believe that I like anal so…**

**Let us know if you need anything. We are here for you.**

**(Still no word from the love birds.)**

**Much love,**

**Ginny**

There was a heart next to her name and the scatterbrained letter made Harry smile. He was glad that they were all safe. The spot of good news about Fleur was wonderful and he looked up at Malfoy with a smile.

But the blond didn’t open his eyes and ask Harry what he was grinning about. In fact, Malfoy hadn’t so much as stirred since Harry had wiped away his tears. It was unnerving and Harry’s smile fell as he gazed at the blond.

**XXXX**

Monday morning, Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up in Malfoy’s room. He looked worn down and exhausted but held his head high.

“We’ve caught the people responsible,” he told Harry immediately, “for the poisoning of Lucius Malfoy and the attacks on the Manor and the Ministry.” He didn’t wait for Harry to ask one of the dozen questions he had. “Matthias Scatterly. Three years ago he told reporters that it was criminal how the Malfoys weren’t being sent to Azkaban for their crimes. He made several derogatory remarks about pure-blood employees and was accused of threatening the lives of two pure-bloods. Because we viewed him as a threat against our employees, he was sacked. Apparently, he had been planning this attack ever since he learned that Draco had become an employee of the Ministry.”

“He knew of Lucius’s location?’

Kingsley nodded. “Matthias was on the Wizengamot during the trials. He broke his nondisclosure agreement and shared the location of Lucius’s whereabouts with several professionally-trained assassins. He orchestrated the attacks.”

“How do you know?”

“Aurors Granger and Weasley brought him in. We had received word about a supply of explosive materials going missing at an airport and I put them on Matthias to follow him. Unfortunately, they weren’t fast enough to prevent the loss of life at the Ministry. I thought that we had doubled our protections but I was wrong.”

“How did he get the bombs inside?”

“Bribed our guards with money funneled out of Gringotts.”

“Where is he now? What happens now?”

Kingsley sighed. “Well, the Wizengamot has ruled that Matthias will be jailed for the murder of four Ministry employees. He was pretty upset when he found out that Draco hadn’t been injured but two half-bloods and a squib _had_ been killed instead. We discovered that he was the mastermind behind the plan and all of his accomplices involved have been arrested as well. The whole thing is a fine mess, if you ask me.”

“How did you find this out?”

The Minister frowned. “I’d rather not go into specifics. They can be a bit…dark.”

“What about Mr. Malfoy?”

Kingsley’s gaze darted to Malfoy on the bed. “Has he truly not awoken since they brought him here?”

“Only once.”

The Minister frowned. “Matthias corrupted some of the Aurors that were stationed to guard Lucius Malfoy. That’s how he was able to have the poison brought to the island undetected. Our doctors are doing everything they can. It is a slow-acting poison which gives us time to work. But…I am unsure of whether or not he will make it.”

“There will be more attacks like this,” Harry mumbled. “More people will start targeting pure-bloods directly. Even back then, Voldemort’s followers were always more of a target than he was. The world needs a change.”

“What do you intend on doing about it?”

Harry looked back at Malfoy’s sleeping face. “I don’t know. _Can_ I do anything?”

Kingsley reached out and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I think, in time, you will come to recognize what powers you have and lack when it comes to the public’s opinion about events. But for right now, young Draco will need a safe place to go where he can recover in peace.”

A part of Harry had expected the Minister to bring this up. He had spent a good portion of the weekend weighing the pros and cons. While he was probably the _last_ person Malfoy wanted to see when he woke up, Harry’s home _was_ the safest place to be. He had already spent four days by Malfoy’s side, anguishing in silence over past mistakes and lost opportunities. What would another few weeks of this hell be? “He can stay at Grimmauld Place. I have tons of extra rooms and it’s safe and –”

Kingsley smiled. “I knew you would offer to house him.” _Damn you, Minister._ “I hope you don’t mind but I have brought some companions to help you relocate him from St. Mungo’s to your home.” He waved his hand and the door opened to reveal five house-elves, including Seelba and Kreacher.

“We are happy to help Master Malfoy in any way we can,” Seelba announced with a low bow to Harry.

Harry felt relief upon seeing Seelba okay. While he hadn’t paid much thought to the well-being of the Manor’s house-elf inhabitants, he was glad to see them all in one piece. They weren’t bloodied or bruised and looked perfectly normal to Harry.

Kingsley nodded. “You can Apparate directly from this room to make it easier to travel. The house-elves will assist magically to make sure that neither you nor Draco are injured in the journey. The faster you can get him to a more secure location, the faster St. Mungo’s can breathe a sigh of relief. This whole thing doesn’t sit right with them and the board members are terribly on edge. Hell-bent on making my life more difficult, they are.”

“I’m not a doctor –” Harry started to say but Kingsley nodded again.

“Don’t worry about that. We have people in mind who have been to Grimmauld Place before and are dependable. They’ll cater to Draco’s wounds – you just play host.” With another wave of his arm, a woman appeared in the doorway behind the house-elves. She wore a white tunic and black trousers with the crest of the hospital emblazoned on her right breast pocket. Her chestnut hair was tied up in a bun and her crooked smile took up most of her face.

“Hi, Harry. It’s been a while.”

“Megan? Megan Jones?”

She laughed and maneuvered her way past the house-elves to give him a quick hug. “Been a while since our Hogwarts days, I know.”

“I didn’t know you became a doctor!”

“I’m a few months short of graduating but I’ve been granted special permission to practice without my full license. Someone has to make sure this tosser gets better.” She was smiling and Harry returned the grin. He remembered her being in Hufflepuff and living with Hannah Abbott but, other than that, they hadn’t had many interactions during their school days. She had always seemed alright, though.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Kingsley told them. “There’s still much paperwork to be completed and loose ends to tie up. Plus, I will need to make a formal statement about the attack to the press. I suspect the _Prophet_ and _Quibbler_ will both be sold out with tomorrow’s edition.” He sighed before nodding to each of his audience members in turn. “Stay safe. Let me know if you need anything.” He Disapparated without another word and Megan turned to face Harry.

“Well! Let’s get this pure-blood pansy to your place, shall we?”

**XXXX**

Narcissa blinked open her eyes and found herself inside a hospital that mirrored St. Mungo’s. She knew it was not the same place as she followed Galen up a flight of stairs to her husband’s room. The walls were a darker color and there were far more guards on duty than at St. Mungo’s.

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Galen told her when they reached Lucius’s door. He looked unsure for a moment before adding, “I promise I won’t listen in.”

Knowing he was still under the effects of the truth serum, Narcissa nodded to him in gratitude. Quickly, she opened the door to her husband’s room and walked inside.

Her husband’s pale face was the first thing her gaze landed on. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and his breathing was labored. A nurse stood in the corner of the room, keeping a close watch over him in case anything about his condition changed. When Narcissa walked in, the nurse bowed low to her.

“Good evening, Madame Malfoy. We have given him a sedative to help with the pain but the hemlock was strong. He was fed undiluted dragon’s blood with it. We have people in the field trying to find the ingredients for a cure.”

“What sort of ingredients are needed?” Narcissa asked as she moved to her husband’s side. There was a chair provided and she gracefully sat down.

“According to his attacker, the blood of a Diricawl can help reverse this.”

“They are terribly rare.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Narcissa frowned. “How has he been?”

“He is not coherent, Madame Malfoy. He…well, he speaks of things that aren’t real. Hallucination is a side effect of this type of poison. He believes things that aren’t real to be so.”

“What sorts of things?” She took her husband’s hand in her own. Despite his body being covered in sweat, his hand was cold. Lifeless.

The nurse looked troubled. “He speaks of the rise of the Dark Lord from his grave.”

Narcissa squeezed her husband’s hand. She was quiet for a long moment. Sensing her distress, the nurse politely excused herself. “I’ll be outside if you need anything. I’m Nurse Laura.” Once she had left, Narcissa moved in closer to her husband.

“Lucius.”

He didn’t stir.

“Lucius, it’s me, darling. It’s your Narcissa.”

Her husband’s eyes opened but he wouldn’t look at her. The sweat trickled down and wetted his collar. His breathing still was not steady.

“Lucius. Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” She raised his hand to kiss the back of it. When he didn’t direct his attention to her, she frowned again. “Lucius. It’s me.”

When he spoke, the words sent a surge of fear through her. “Draco must kill him. Draco _must_ kill Potter.”

Narcissa enclosed his hand in both of hers. “Darling, you are ill. You have been poisoned.” Her gaze took in his wild hair, long enough to reach his waist, and the thick beard he had grown during his exile. He had always been so finicky about his appearance. Now, he looked like a stranger.

His eyes darted back and forth across the ceiling but he wouldn’t turn to look at her. His voice was higher than normal. “Draco is the key. He _must_ kill Potter to bring back our Dark Lord.”

“Darling, it’s _me_. It’s your ‘Cissa.” She rubbed her thumbs against his hand. “You are not thinking clearly. This poison is affecting your mind. But I shall help you remember who you are.” She kissed his hand again. “Do you remember when we danced in the courtyard? You were marvelous, darling.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t you remember?”

“Master must be brought _back_.”

“Darling,” Narcissa whispered. She leaned closer and pressed her lips to his hand again. She hoped that her touch and voice would be enough to make him coherent. “Darling, it’s me. Narcissa.”

Lucius’s gaze was wild as he exclaimed, “He can be brought back, ‘Cissa. The Dark Lord can be revived! I have _seen_ it! He has shown it to me!”

He wasn’t listening to her. There had been a time, some five years or so ago, when she had tried talking sense into him only to have him ignore her words. She half-wondered if she had been more forceful back then if Lucius would have eventually listened to her. _No_ , she thought dreadfully, _he wouldn’t have._ Tears prickled her eyes. Her husband was _dying_. Her son was wounded and her home was damaged.

“I thought, when I saw you again, we would be happy. You would come home from your sentence and we would be a family again.” She lifted herself so that she was in his peripheral vision but even as his eyes took in her face, she knew that he wasn’t seeing her. “We should have left when he grew strong,” she whispered as the tears started to fall. “But now he is dead and our son suffers and you are…you are…” she sobbed against the skin of his hand. She had always believed that once the Dark Lord was dead, her family would be safe.

_What a fool I was._

“Master will reward me and…he will reward our son,” Lucius was saying. His voice grew strained from talking. It became raspy and reminded her of the Dark Lord’s voice. “He will…give Draco power…and wealth to…take care of you. You will see, ‘Cissa. He will cleanse this world of…those who aren’t _worthy_.”

“I remember,” she whispered to him, though she doubted whether or not he could truly hear her. “I remember our dances. And the way you used to bring me flowers. And the way you looked when you first held our son. I remember enough for the both of us. Lucius, you _must_ fight this. Your son _needs_ you.”

“The Dark Lord will rise again,” Lucius insisted. His voice was growing weaker and his hands went limp in hers. “I have seen it, ‘Cissa. I have seen our son…taking revenge.”

“I am scared, love. I want him to be _happy_ but how can he when he lives in a world that wishes him dead?”

Lucius ignored her. “Our son _will_ kill Potter. He will be…victorious…in this!”

Narcissa shook her head. “I wanted you to find _peace_ after the war. I wanted us to be a family again.” The tears fell harder and she knew she was shaking. Her steady composure was slipping. “I wanted Draco to have his father home again.”

“Draco must murder Potter. He _must_!”

Narcissa remembered the first time Lucius ever kissed her. She remembered the last time he had kissed her, before he had been exiled. _“It will be alright, ‘Cissa,”_ _he had promised her. “You will see.”_

But the mind of the man before her was muddled and he could not remember caressing her cheek or whispering promises to her under the light of the moon. The poison was taking effect and Narcissa feared it would not be long before her husband succumbed to it. His will was not as strong as it once had been.

“I’m strong enough for the both of us,” she told him gently. “We can get through this. We _will_ , my darling.”

“Draco will…bring the Dark…Lord…back to this…world!”

“No, Lucius.” Her voice broke. “He won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This WILL have a happy ending folks.
> 
> I know there's a lot that happens here. It was pretty emotional to write and I'm excited for more.


	12. The Burrow

Because he was well-known for making decisions without thinking them through first, Harry dealt with Draco Malfoy’s unconscious presence in Grimmauld Place the only way he knew how – by avoiding the pure-blood. Harry gave Malfoy plenty of space while he contemplated how he was going to explain the situation to Malfoy once the blond woke up. The house-elves all knew to contact him the _second_ Malfoy gained consciousness, so he didn’t see a reason to hover. It would do his mind no good to linger and fret over the unconscious pure-blood like some sort of devoted lover. (Which he very much was _not_.) Instead, he kept himself busy. He held to his usual routine of working out, caring for his plants, and finding things to occupy his time. He read medical books that Megan leant him about basic care. He learned some of the body-regulating spells that kept Malfoy from ruining his bed sheets. He found things to do while Malfoy remained unconscious.

_The last thing he probably wants is to be here,_ Harry frequently reminded himself. _The least I can do now is give him space while he’s unconscious._ He wasn’t sure how Malfoy was going to react when he woke up but he – selfishly – hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t remember Sunday’s Incident.

**XXXX**

He decided to visit the Burrow and check in on the Weasleys. When he arrived, Arthur was the first person to greet him and pulled Harry into a fierce hug. Unspoken relief passed between them as Harry wrapped his arms around Mr. Weasley. He was glad that the father-figure hadn’t been injured in the attack.

The rest of the Weasley clan ran out to welcome him. Molly had to be forcefully pulled away from Harry by Ginny. George had taken the week off from running the shop to be with his family and he shook Harry’s hand wildly in greeting. “I’ve gotta show you the new gadgets we’ve got in the store!” he told Harry excitedly. “There’s one that makes your gag reflex obsolete!” George ignored the frown his mother sent him.

Bill and Fleur were delighted to announce their pregnancy to Harry in person – he got a kiss on the cheek from Fleur and couldn’t help but blush like in his schoolboy days – while Bill beamed beside her. “I can’t wait to be a father,” he bragged. “I wonder if our child’s going to have my red hair!”

“’Zey’ll be beautiful,” Fleur reassured Bill, resting her cheek against his shoulder.  

Harry felt genuine happiness for the couple. “Congratulations, truly. You will make lovely parents.”

Bill opened his mouth to reply but, before he could, Charlie appeared and swept Harry into his arms in a mock version of a waltz. “So good to see you again, my friend!” Charlie laughed as he dipped Harry. “Wait until you see how big the dragonlings have gotten! I’ve brought pictures!”

Laughing, Harry allowed the redhead to twirl him around for a moment before Charlie released him to shake Percy’s hand in a short greeting. Like Arthur, Percy looked uninjured. He grasped Harry’s hand for a brief moment before turning and making his way back into the Burrow. _Something of a gesture,_ Harry figured.

While spending time at the Burrow, he learned more recipes from Molly. He flew on brooms with Ginny and George. He played chess with Bill and listened to Charlie’s updates about the dragons. He even took the time to explain some Muggle inventions to Arthur. All in all, it was a warm visit that relaxed his soul and rejuvenated his spirit.

Towards the end of the day, Arthur pulled him aside before he could Disapparate back to Grimmauld Place.

“I know you must be worried about Ron and Hermione,” he whispered to Harry, “but do not fret. They will be back soon enough.”

“Are they safe?”

“I believe so. I think paperwork is keeping them from coming home to us.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

Arthur rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “I am used to danger, my lad, especially working with an organization like the Ministry. I’m more concerned about how young Draco is handling it. This attack was aimed at him and people in his department lost their lives because of it. I can’t imagine he will handle it well. I know _I_ certainly wouldn’t be able to.”

Harry frowned. “He…sleeps. He hasn’t woken up since he came to Grimmauld Place. I’m not sure if he knows what happened.”

Arthur nodded and squeezed Harry’s shoulders in understanding. “It was very big of you to take him in, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t agree. He had decided to house Malfoy for selfish reasons and because it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now he wasn’t so sure. What if Malfoy woke up and hated him?

**XXXX**

As the week went on, it became clear to Harry that the Malfoy house-elves were restless.

Harry tried to make them feel at home by giving them their own space and permitting them to travel throughout the townhouse freely. However, they did not seem to be at ease unless they were performing specific tasks to help Malfoy. They went food shopping. They bought more bandages and medical supplies. They Apparated Malfoy’s clothing and some of his favorite belongings that had been salvaged from the attack to the bedroom he occupied. They cleaned Grimmauld Place. They moved furniture around and gave the townhouse a new layer of attention. They even tried to take care of his succulents for him!

It was getting to be a bit ridiculous.

Miraculously, Seelba and Kreacher only bickered occasionally and, when they did so, it was never in front of Harry. He had to hide and make himself scarce to listen in on their arguments when they were public enough for him to catch whiff of.

“You have let this house turn into a shamble!” Seelba was saying. “You bring disgrace on the pure-blood masters you once served!”

“Master Potter does not like the screaming portraits or the sacramental daggers or the –”

“You have covered the portrait of Walburga Black! This is an outrage!”

“Go back to the Manor if you’re too good for this house. Maybe those filthy bombers will get _you_ proper this time.”

Harry peered around the corner and saw Seelba’s eyes widen in shock. The house-elf’s mouth fell open but no words came out.

Kreacher snapped his fingers and disappeared from sight.

**XXXX**

On Thursday, Harry received word that Hermione and Ron had appeared at the Burrow. When he Apparated there, he immediately pulled them into his arms and didn’t let go.

“Mate, you’re crushing me,” Ron laughed against the side of Harry’s cheek but his arms tightened around Harry. “We missed you, you bugger.”

Hermione was no better – she had started tearing up the minute she saw him and Harry felt his shirt dampen. The trio stood there holding each other for several minutes while the Weasley family members lingering in the living room trickled out gracefully to give them space. Eventually, Harry pulled back far enough to look at each of them in turn.

“You’re both okay?”

“Disappointed and frustrated – ‘Mione’s taking it all as a personal failure – but otherwise, we’re good,” Ron supplied. Because he had recently showered, the only visual clue of the rough week he had experienced were heavy bags under Ron’s eyes.

“Nobody should have died,” Hermione sighed. Like Ron, she had bags under her eyes and her hair was a bit more astray than usual. Her gaze was laced with despair. “We couldn’t nab him in time,” she whispered to Harry. Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she muttered, “We tried our best but we still failed.”

“Kingsley doesn’t see it that way,” Ron reminded her. “And we got the bastards in the end.”

“Yeah but…”

Ron shook his head and directed his gaze to Harry. “She’s stuck in her own mind about the whole thing. But Kingsley’s really proud. He’s going to announce that Hermione’s his successor.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wait – really? Hermione, that’s amazing! You’ve always wanted this.”

She bit her lip. “Not after a heavy loss like this. I wanted to come off on a high note. Now it’ll just look like he’s naming me because of the situation.”

“You’ve worked hard for this promotion,” Ron reminded her. “Sure, this mission was a bit of a bust but you’ve had so many successes in the last three years! You can’t let this define you, ‘Mione.”

It was true. Ever since she joined the Ministry, she had been working her arse off to make it to the top of the food chain. Shacklebolt thought the world of her – that much had always been clear – and she was ready to start preparing for the next step of her career. It was a conversation that they had talked about frequently since the end of the war.

Her eyes finally met Harry’s. “How’s Malfoy doing?” Clearly she wasn’t ready to talk about the mission. “The Weasleys told us he only had a concussion?”

Harry nodded, figuring he would press her about her side of things later. Hermione would open up eventually. She just needed to calm down a bit first.

“And some fractured ribs that have been since-healed by Megan Jones,” Harry said.

“Megan Jones? Wasn’t she in Hufflepuff?”

“Yeah. She’s working for St. Mungo’s now.”

“Huh,” Ron remarked. A thought seemed to occur to him and he frowned. “Wait. How have _you_ been? We kind of left you in a rough state.”

“There’s a bit to catch you both up on,” Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. There was no way he _couldn’t_ tell them all that had happened since they had left him on Sunday morning. “Come on – I have a feeling you’ll both need some tea first.”

**XXXX**

“Have you talked to him?” Hermione asked. They had spent the last few hours catching up and Harry had finally had the opportunity to enlighten them about his life. He shook his head.

“Since he came to Grimmauld Place, he hasn’t gained consciousness. Megan said not to worry about it and that the body often shuts down after traumatic events but…I’m worried. Mostly, I don’t want him to wake up and sock me.”

“What are you going to say to him when he wakes up?” Ron asked gently.

“Honestly? I have no idea. I was so annoyed with him for leaving on Sunday but then, when he almost got killed, I just…that stuff didn’t matter as much.”

Hermione reached out and gently put a hand over his. “You’ll know what to say when the time comes, Harry.”

He hoped she was right.

**XXXX**

The trio wound up talking until the wee hours of Friday morning. On Saturday, Hermione had to leave the Burrow because she was to be present when Shacklebolt made his official report to reporters. Although she wouldn’t be replacing him for a very long time, she figured that he would probably slip the announcement regarding her future position promotion in with his speech. Ron and Harry stayed behind at the Burrow to watch it unfold on the telly. Around noon, Shacklebolt stood in front of the Ministry on a small platform that allowed the cameras to capture his face clearly.

“We have determined that the explosive devices were intended for Ministry of Magic employee, Draco Malfoy,” Shacklebolt began. “However, a mislabeling of the post sent the devices to an office down the hallway from Draco’s. Andrew Filiburn, a half-blood, wrongly opened the packages meant for Draco and lost his life in the explosions. Three others, including Millicent Din, Charles Young, and Timothy Chalant, were killed in the blast. Many others were injured but are expected to make a full recovery – including Draco Malfoy, whose office was at the other end of the level from Andrew’s.

“Violence against _any_ Ministry of Magic employee is _not_ tolerated. The people responsible for this attack are being put to justice. Matthias Scatterly, who previously worked for the Ministry of Magic and was a member of the Wizengamot, will spend life behind bars for these murders. We have discovered that Phillip Pern, Daniel Ky, and David Scornlon – who all worked as security personnel for the Ministry – were associated with Matthias and primarily responsible for allowing the explosive devices into the building. They have also received sentencing and are currently in jail.

“This attack was sparked by violence and hatred against pure-bloods. When we hate someone for their heritage or their blood, we become the same hateful beings that the Ministry strives to defeat. The people who did this and murdered Ministry employees are no better than Voldemort. People who approve of murdering pure-bloods or half-bloods or Squibs or Muggles are no better than Voldemort. We _cannot_ allow ourselves to give in to hate. The world does not need more hatred. Voldemort is _dead_. This bigoted hatred needs to die as well.”

He turned away from the camera to gesture beside him.

“With me now is one of the Aurors responsible for taking down Matthias Scatterly. In the past, many have referred to her as ‘mud-blood’ or ‘dirty-blood’. Today, I call her the brightest witch of her age and, hopefully, my successor when I retire in the upcoming years. It is my privilege to introduce to you, Hermione Granger.”

Harry watched as his best friend stepped up onto the platform to shake Kingsley’s hand. Her hair was tied back and she wore a neat, black, business suit and skirt. Her smile was tight but Harry knew she was incredibly proud of the announcement. She had spent many hours with Harry and Ron explaining all the things she hoped to improve within the Ministry once she became the leader.

“Thank you, Minister,” she began. Her voice was steady – level. She held her head high.

Beside him, Harry felt Ron grab his hand. They watched as she directed her attention to the reporters before her.

“Last Sunday, I and many of my Auror companions were asked to watch Matthias Scatterly for any suspicious activity. We determined that he was responsible for stealing equipment to make the explosive devices that would eventually infiltrate the Ministry. However, he slipped from our grasp and we were not quick enough to apprehend him before he could deliver the devices to Pern, Ky, and Scornlon. This mistake comes at the heavy cost of knowing that I will not be able to see my fellow colleagues again. Because of Scatterly’s hatred and the failure of my department to apprehend him in time, the families of the deceased will each be short a loved one for this upcoming holiday season.”

Ron’s grip tightened briefly on Harry’s hand.

“I stand before you to encourage the world not to give in to hatred. We must not let archaic bigotry keep us from moving forward.

“I admit that I have never been fond of the Malfoys. During Voldemort’s years of terror, I was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in their family home. I still have the scars to prove it. Ridiculed by Draco during our time in school and often bullied for being born to Muggle parents, I did not harbor positive affections for members of the Malfoy family for most of my childhood.

“Those who are closest to me know that, above all else, I admire notions of loyalty the most. And, in the years since the demise of Voldemort, I have witnessed Draco Malfoy change his loyalty. No longer does he give his unending support to the Dark Arts and support prejudice towards non-pure-bloods. Draco Malfoy has changed his allegiance. Today, he works to make the lives of pure-bloods and Muggles alike better when they suffer symptoms of dementia. To me, that counts for something.”

“It took her over an hour to get the wording right,” Ron whispered to him. “She wanted to acknowledge his past while giving him the benefit of the doubt for the future.”

“It’s good,” Harry replied shortly. He didn’t want to miss the rest of her speech by talking to Ron.

“There was a time, long ago, when I would have condoned the reasoning behind this attack,” Hermione continued. “But, since Voldemort’s death, I have realized that hatred has no place in my heart. The Minister is right when he says that to practice violence in the name of hatred is to support the very ideals which Voldemort held for decades.

“We must work harder to make the world a better place. The Ministry of Magic must work harder to protect _all_ people. We must not make the same mistakes again. We must _not_ allow hatred to spread and grow. It starts with us. And it continues with each of you.

“I hope that you will contemplate my words and open your hearts the way that I have. When I become Minister for Magic, I hope to continue Kingsley Shacklebolt’s mission to erase hate within our world.” She gave a brief nod before stepping back to allow Shacklebolt onto the platform beside her. Together, they took and answered questions posed by reporters.

Harry wrapped an arm around Ron’s shoulders and pulled him close. “That’s your future wife,” he told the redhead.

“Yeah she is,” Ron said proudly. His eyes were shiny. “I’m so fucking lucky.” He hadn’t asked Hermione to marry him yet but Harry knew that it was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, I know, but I wanted to focus in on the Weasleys while integrating Hermione's future position as Minister. The next chapter will be longer and will focus back on Draco when he wakes up (dun dun duuuuun).


	13. Waking (or Seeing the Scars of the Past)

Slowly, the unfamiliar room around him came into focus. A silver bedspread covered his body and kept him warm against the December chill battering the windows. The mattress beneath him was rather firm, as he liked it. Drapes were pulled back on the four-poster, queen-sized bed to allow the early light to seep in. As he took in the sophisticated aesthetic of the grey wallpaper with silver, diamond-shaped coverings, an odd figure came into view. Squinting, Draco waited until his vision cleared enough to make out a house-elf standing beside his bed.

“Master Malfoy! We are glad you are awake.”

Draco’s head was throbbing and he winced at the volume of the house-elf’s voice. He opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a groan.

“Here. This will help.”

The house-elf waved his hand and Draco’s pain lessened to a low throbbing. Blinking, Draco looked again at the house-elf and realized the creature was _his_. “Seelba? What…?” The room was still spinning a bit and Draco didn’t want to move too much and risk making his nausea worse. He closed his eyes.

“Master is recovering from a concussion. Master had some fractured ribs and burns but those have been healed by doctors.”

“Concussion…?” He lowered a hand to his torso, feeling for any damage in his ribs. The skin didn’t _feel_ bruised or injured. The doctors must have been skilled. “What happened, Seelba?”

“Master does not remember?”

Dreams had come to him sluggishly while he slept but only a handful of them had stayed in his memory. “There were…explosions. And…fire? I thought I heard Crabbe’s voice.”

Seelba frowned. “Vincent Crabbe has been dead for many years, Master. But the fire and the explosions were real.” The house-elf waved his hand again and Draco’s headache melted away. “The Ministry was attacked. Master was nearly killed.”

A sense of dread swept through him and he felt the nausea creep up his throat.

Seelba saw his face darken. “Master –”

“How many?”

“Master…?”

“How many are dead?”

“Four, Master. Four Ministry of Magic personnel were killed in the attack.”

Draco’s face paled and Seelba instantly handed him a bucket. “Seelba’s magic is not strong enough to cure the stomach sickness. Seelba will tell you the full events of what happened after you are done. Sir Potter is not expected back for many more hours.”

Draco was too busy puking his guts out to notice Kreacher lingering outside of the bedroom, listening in.

**XXXX**

“I can’t believe the _Prophet_ ’s saying this attack was wrong. I wonder what made them change their tune from promoting the murder of Death Eaters?”

“Probably the subpoena Shacklebolt issued under the table,” Hermione replied to Ron’s question from across the breakfast table. She blew on her hot cup of tea before continuing, “He said the paper had been subtly promoting violence and the head writers had no choice but to agree with his point of view. They’ve issued a public apology and have promised to stop targeting pure-bloods.”

“I heard the family of the pure-blood that died sent clippings of the last few copies of the _Prophet_ with the sections that promoted not trusting pure-bloods highlighted,” Ginny supplied. She had flown in to eat with them since she had the day off. “Nobody seems to be taking it well.”

Ron frowned over his cup. “They never supported Harry like this after saying _he_ was daft.”

Hermione shrugged. “They’ve got new people in charge. That could be a factor.”

_The paper’s apology doesn’t matter,_ Harry thought to himself. _People will still target pure-bloods just like_ I’ll _forever be targeted. Nothing’s changing._ He swirled his spoon in his teacup without looking at his friends. “Neville invited me to Hogwarts.”

Three pairs of surprised eyes considered him and wondered at the change of topic. “Really? Why?”

Harry gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Probably to be a guest speaker? I’m not sure. I haven’t responded to him yet. He just asked me to swing by when I had a free moment.”

“I don’t know of too many people who are invited to just ‘swing by’,” Ginny replied. “They run those courses on a tight schedule with very few guest appearances. The only celebrity we ever had visit was Voldemort and he didn’t much count, did he? Did McGonagall approve it?”

“I guess so if Neville was able to ask me to come. It was on official Hogwarts stationary and everything.”

“We can go with you, if you like,” Hermione suggested. “McGonagall said that the three of us are always welcome there.”

“I’m not sure if I want to go,” Harry muttered. He was staring into his cup and briefly wondered what Trelawney would think of his tea-reading abilities now. _The crazy bat had been right after all, in the end._ “Holiday break will be coming up in less than a month. Surely Neville will be going home to visit his parents at St. Mungo’s. I can just see him when he’s not at the castle.”

His friends exchanged a look but Harry didn’t comment on it.

At that moment, Kreacher appeared in the small coffee shop beside them. “Master, Kreacher has come to tell you –”

“Bloody Merlin, I hate when they do that!” Ron shouted, spilling tea over himself. He glared at Kreacher for a moment before patting his wet clothes with a bunch of napkins.

Hermione gave Ron a sympathetic look before turning to face the house-elf. “Hello, Kreacher. How have you been?”

The house-elf glanced at her and gave an uneasy frown. He had become accustomed to Hermione’s presence since she had worked so hard to free house-elves who wanted to be freed, but his prejudice against mud-bloods was strong from serving the Black family for so long. “Kreacher is well…thank you,” he eventually managed. His attention quickly turned back to Harry. “Master, you should know –”

“Damned house-elves,” Ron muttered under his breath. “Always showing up to ruin a perfectly good pair of trousers.”

“Just because he ‘accidentally’ poured soup on you last year –” Ginny started but Ron interrupted her.

“It wasn’t accidental and you _know_ it, Gin!”

Kreacher resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the blood traitors but he _did_ tap his foot impatiently. “Master, Sir Malfoy is awake.”

Harry dropped his spoon rather clumsily and it clattered loudly to the floor. “Really? Is he coherent?”

Kreacher shifted on his feet. “He was speaking with that trifling –”

Harry was already up and out of his seat, pulling on his coat. “I’m coming.” He turned to face the others. “I –”

“Go,” Hermione told him gently but insistently. She was smiling. “Go, Harry. We understand.”

He gave her a grateful smile and nodded before Disapparating with Kreacher, leaving his tea forgotten.

**XXXX**

After he had relieved his stomach of all contents and absorbed Seelba’s tale of what had happened, Draco wasn’t sure how to feel. The attack itself wasn’t that much of a surprise – he had always known how much people hated pure-bloods (especially after Voldemort’s reign of terror had ended) and he often felt like someone might eventually try to hurt him – but he hadn’t expected it to take place at the _Ministry_. And, what’s worse, innocent people were murdered within the very building that had promised Draco sanctuary.

_Foolish of me to think any building could keep me safe. If I was in danger at Hogwarts, I’m in danger anywhere._

The worst part was that he had known the deceased, although not as well as he had grown to know Hank, David, and Quina. Three of the victims had been regular, pleasant enough folk, but Andrew Filiburn, the one who had wrongly opened the packages, had always seemed like an idiot to Draco. Granted, Draco hadn’t really talked to him much but the half-blood never seemed to be playing with a full deck. He probably hadn’t even noticed the packages were mislabeled before he opened them.

_Careless fool_ , Draco thought to himself as he made his way shakily to the shower. It felt odd to be on his feet after nearly two weeks of lying in bed, but he needed to make the short journey from his bedroom to the shower. Body-regulating spells were all well and good but nothing like a genuine shower. He wanted to wash away the feeling of helplessness as much as he could. _Guess I can’t blame Filiburn entirely, though. Had he realized the packages were mislabeled, he would have brought them to me and then_ I _wouldn’t be here._

The white marble of the bathroom met him as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He tossed his fresh clothing onto the sink and quickly stripped. He didn’t bother to look at himself in the mirror. A part of him was afraid of what he would see.

_I suppose it’s selfish to be happy that my closest colleagues survived the attack while others I never really cared about died. Small miracles, I suppose._

Frowning at himself, Draco turned on the water and took out a towel from within a cabinet. He figured it wouldn’t be long before Potter returned from his outing with the Glam Squad. Draco didn’t want Potter to see him immobilized in bed any longer. He didn’t want to look weak and fragile. Potter needed to see him strong and prepared. He wanted to look his best after Sunday’s embarrassing escapade.

_And that’s another thing._ The memory made him flinch as he stepped into the shower. _Of course Potter had to play the ‘Savior of All’ card and offer to protect me in his well-guarded home. Of course he couldn’t just abandon me to be taken in by some pure-blood family that hates me._ Draco rested his head against the cool tiling of the wall. Once again, he felt indebted to Potter and he _hated_ it. He had left abruptly on Sunday hoping that he wouldn’t have to interact with Potter again. They couldn’t be lovers – they couldn’t even be friends! So why was Potter _repeatedly_ trying to keep him around? _Maybe he’s not trying. Maybe I just_ want _him to be trying._ Draco sighed as the spray hit his shoulders. Potter was probably just acting out of the goodness of his heart.

An interesting thought occurred to him and he called out for his house-elf.

Seelba’s shadow appeared through the shower curtain. “Yes, Master?”

“I was supposed to have a date when…anyway, did she ever inquire about me?”

“Sir Potter has not received any post from pure-blood families inquiring about your health and well-being, Master.”

Draco frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Master. Seelba received any and all post addressed to you and/or Sir Potter from the office. There was nothing addressed to you.”

“Mother didn’t even write?”

“No, Master.”

_Maybe communications were cut off by the Ministry?_ When he voiced the question to Seelba, he saw the house-elf shake his head through the thin sheet of the shower curtain.

“The Minister encouraged communication through protected post but Madame Malfoy has not sent any letters.”

“Thank you, Seelba.”

The house-elf vanished and Draco sighed as he scrubbed at his hair. _Odd that Mother wouldn’t even reach out to me. I expected her to send a letter alerting me to Father’s condition. Could things have gotten worse?_ Draco’s brow furrowed as he made up his mind. A letter to his mother simply wouldn’t do. He needed to visit his parents in person to let them know that he was okay and to inquire about their well-being. They were his family. He wouldn’t be kept from them any longer.

**XXXX**

Sighing, Draco stepped out of the shower to find that he had forgotten a shirt. Chalking it up to his poor brain functionality after the concussion, he decided not to summon his entire wardrobe but to just to go back to his bedroom and look for something appropriate to wear for when he saw Potter.

_I’ll thank him for sheltering me and be on my way. Surely I have enough time to change before he comes back. Seelba said he wasn’t expected back for a few more hours._

Shimmying into a pair of slacks, Draco didn’t bother to wrap a towel around his hair as he pulled open the bathroom door.

**XXXX**

When Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place, he quickly ascended the stairs and raced to Malfoy’s door only to find it ajar. He peered into the room but Malfoy wasn’t there.

“Kreacher!”

“Sir Malfoy’s in the shower,” Kreacher supplied quickly, appearing beside Harry before disappearing again.

Backing out of the bedroom, Harry slowly walked down the hallway. He could hear the water running and breathed a sigh of relief. Malfoy was fine. He wasn’t missing and hadn’t been captured. He was fine.

Feeling rather silly over his protective nature, Harry ran a hand through his hair as he stood in front of the bathroom door awkwardly. Should he go downstairs? Should he go change? _Why should I change? I look fine. Did_ he look fine? He wandered from the middle of the hallway to his room to look over his reflection. He looked fine. Right? Why should he care? He shouldn’t care. He _didn’t_ care. It had only been almost two weeks since Malfoy had seen him. What did that matter? They had gone _years_ without seeing each other before Harry published that damn tell-all.

_Only Malfoy hadn’t been staying in your house after nearly getting blown up the last time,_ a voice reminded him in his head.

Sighing, Harry gave up on examining his appearance and made his way back out into the hall. He passed the bathroom and was just about to head down the stairs when the bathroom door opened and Malfoy stepped out.

“Potter.”

He sounded surprised.

Harry decided that a sarcastic response would probably be best considering the situation and he turned around ready to say something like, “You were expecting Professor Flitwick?” but the snarky reply died in his throat when his eyes fell upon Malfoy’s figure.

Malfoy’s incredibly half-naked figure.

The pure-blood’s shortened hair was dripping. One water droplet slid down his neck to collect in his collarbone. Another few droplets cascaded down Malfoy’s neck and shoulders to drip down his bare chest. His nipples were hardened by the cool air of the hallway. Scars lined his chest and stomach – some of which _Harry_ had put there with _Sectumsempra_. They were mostly faded but still apparent and the sight made Harry feel a mixture of horror and arousal at seeing Malfoy’s exposed skin.

Harry’s gaze moved instead to track one droplet that crawled down Malfoy’s arm to briefly rest over the Dark Mark before falling to the floor. His eyes lingered on the Mark.

_Thank bloody fuck he’s wearing pants._ But they hung low on the pure-blood’s hips and left the tops of Malfoy’s hipbones exposed.

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Malfoy shirtless.

Had he _ever_ seen it?

He couldn’t remember.

All he knew was that, at some point, he had stopped breathing and he took in a small gasp of air.

**XXXX**

Malfoy quirked a half-smirk and sneered, “As much as I’m sure you’re enjoying the show, I have things I must attend to.”

Harry blinked as he was pulled back to the present. He opened his mouth to ask Malfoy what he meant but what came out was, “Please don’t leave again.” The rawness of his voice embarrassed him and he flinched in surprise at his own request. “Sorry, that’s not – I mean –” He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from Malfoy’s scars and muscles. His mind was a jumble and he needed to _focus_. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

A minute passed before Malfoy asked, “Why wouldn’t you want me to leave?” He padded closer to Harry. Harry wondered if the blond could hear his heart hammering in his chest. But Malfoy only needed to approach him to go past him and into his bedroom. The realization made Harry’s stomach flip in a funny way as Malfoy passed him instead of stopping for a kiss.

“I know you only allowed me to stay here because this townhouse is a fortress,” Malfoy continued as he walked straight past Harry to enter his bedroom. “Seelba informed me of everything that happened.”

“He was supposed to tell me when you woke up,” Harry found himself saying rather bitterly. “I wanted to be there when you found out.”

Malfoy cast him something of a condescending smile over his shoulder. “He, like the rest of my house-elves, only serves _pure-blood_ masters.”

Harry moved to linger in the doorway of Malfoy’s bedroom.

Malfoy was quiet as he sifted through a dresser. He pulled out a black sweater and tugged it over his torso, hiding the scars – and their past – from view. He took a second to push his damp hair out from under the collar of the sweater and the simple grace of the motion fascinated Harry. He wanted to run his fingers through Malfoy’s hair.

“Thank you for sheltering me.”

The unprompted sincerity of the pure-blood’s words caused Harry to start. He felt a light blush form on his cheeks. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Malfoy’s eyes rose to meet Harry’s in the mirror that hung over his dresser. The blond was incredibly serious when he said, “I think it was.”

Harry couldn’t look away. “Well, then, you’re welcome. Does this mean we’re good?”

Malfoy’s expression was unreadable and Harry hated it. The blond gazed back neutrally in the mirror with only the slightest tell of curiosity showing in his grey eyes. “An interesting question. Do you think that your action of protecting me in this house pushes what happened on Sunday under the metaphorical rug?”

“Um…I don’t know. I’m not sure I know what you’re asking.”

“I think you do.” Malfoy turned his back to the dresser and faced Harry fully. “You never told me _your_ intentions. I assumed that Sunday that you wanted to kiss me. Was I wrong in that assumption?”

This was it. This was the moment he had spent two weeks thinking about and trying to prepare for. But as he looked into Malfoy’s eyes, Harry realized that he still didn’t know how to convince Malfoy to try and date him. What if he answered Malfoy’s question honestly? Would Malfoy give in and kiss him? Would they shag? Would he be rejected again? Harry had no idea how Malfoy had handled the news of the attack or the deaths or his father’s condition. Was he deflecting? Was he looking for a distraction? The thought made Harry’s stomach twist. He didn’t want to be a _distraction_ for anybody. He deserved love. He deserved someone’s love for _him_.

He decided to answer Malfoy’s question with a question. “Was that why you left? Because you felt that, because of your responsibilities, you couldn’t kiss me back?”

**XXXX**

Draco blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. _Sounds more like a Granger thing to say than a Potter thing to say._ And why shouldn’t it? Surely Potter had blabbered all about that fiasco to his Glam Squad. Surely they all must have had _opinions_ about the event.

The corner of Draco’s mouth turned down in a frown. He wasn’t about to let Potter have this victory. Shifting his weight, he asked, “Is that what you want, Potter? A quick snog and a shag to get me out of your system?”

“No. That’s not what I want.”

Draco leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms. “Then what _does_ the Chosen One want?”

**XXXX**

Malfoy’s posture, the easy way he asked that question, and the way his shirt had dampened under his wet hair – Harry hated all of it.

He felt the fight leaving his body.

Malfoy wasn’t going to cave or give in. He looked barely affected by the events of the attack. What was the point in confessing now? Harry remembered the way that Malfoy had cried upon waking at the hospital and realized that those hadn’t been tears of relief at seeing his face but reactionary tears to waking up in an unfamiliar place without full control of his body. _I should have known. He wasn’t even coherent when that happened._

Realizing that Malfoy was a stubborn fool who didn’t even _want_ to try, Harry let his gaze fall to the floor between them instead of answering.

**XXXX**

_Well. That’s new. I’ve never seen Potter give up so easily before._ It was actually disappointing how Potter refused to push and flirt and admit what he wanted. _I’d believe that he had given up on me after I stormed out on Sunday if it wasn’t for the way his eyes looked when he saw me half-naked. Maybe he’s lying even to himself. Maybe he_ does _want a simple shag._ _Not that I’d be willing to give it to him so easily._

Draco shifted on his feet and decided to push the subject another time. “I am grateful to you for protecting me. But I am better now and Shacklebolt can’t possibly expect me never to return to work. While I’m sure my return won’t be welcomed, I can’t lose this job. I _need_ to get out, check on my parents, and return to work. Staying cooped up here won’t help me.”

“Neither will pushing yourself so soon after what your body went through.” Potter sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes. The motion caused his glasses to shift and he took a second to fix them. The hero was highly agitated and it showed. His gaze flashed to Draco before looking away. “You’re going to visit your father, right?”

“How did you know?”

“I would have done the same thing if someone I cared about was hurt.”

_“He kept watch over you,” Seelba had told Draco. “The entire time you were at St. Mungo’s, Sir Potter watched over you. Seelba thinks he was afraid of losing you.”_

A funny feeling wormed up through Draco’s chest and he looked away from Potter. “I know where he’s being kept. I intend on seeing him.”

“You’ll need backup.”

One of his eyebrows quirked before he could control it. “You’ve done enough for me. I couldn’t ask you to do this.”

“Then don’t ask. I’m coming with you and that’s final.”

**XXXX**

Lucius Malfoy was being kept in a remote facility on the eastern edge of Finland. Harry wasn’t sure how Malfoy had discovered the address but he wasn’t about to ask any more questions. The least amount of communication that transpired between them right now, the better. When they arrived, Harry was prepared to put up a fight or to drag Malfoy’s body back to Grimmauld Place but the Aurors caved rather quickly and permitted them entry.

“The Minister said you’d show up eventually,” one of them told Malfoy. “He said we shouldn’t keep you from him or things would just get ugly.”

“Smart man,” Malfoy muttered, pushing past them to enter the building.

Harry was left to follow him down the hall and up a staircase. Silently they made their way through the hospital to the floor that housed Lucius Malfoy. Four Aurors were stationed outside of the room. Before Malfoy could reach his father’s door, Harry turned to face him.

“Look. I know things got tense back there and nothing’s been resolved between us and things are kind of shite and everything…”

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow.

“But I just wanted to say that…well…I’ll be here if you need anything.”

**XXXX**

Draco hadn’t expected that. Potter surprising him was becoming something of a habit and he didn’t like it. But the Chosen One’s words touched him and he felt some of the icy tension ebb between them.

“Thank you for that.”

It came out _slightly_ more sarcastic than he had meant it to but he wasn’t about to apologize. Turning away from Potter, Draco entered his father’s room and was immediately swept up into his mother’s arms.

“Draco! Oh, what a surprise. Darling, I’m glad to see you well,” she told him. “I knew that you would be safe there but I worried. It’s not as if that place of dwelling holds any of its previous grandeur.” She leaned back to look him over. “I know it’s nothing like the Manor but I hoped that you would find at least _some_ comfort during this irksome time. You _are_ well, aren’t you, love?”

He looked into her face and felt a brief pang of anger that she, of all people, hadn’t checked in on him during his unconscious time at Potter’s. He could understand none of the ‘lovely pure-blood gals’ who wanted to marry him checking in on him, but his own mother? This was the woman that had lied to _Voldemort_ to keep him safe. He wanted to understand why she hadn’t inquired about his well-being.

 But as he took in his mother’s worried gaze, he decided that she had truly been through enough and he couldn’t make things worse for her right now. He was being selfish. Sighing, he replied, “I’m fine, Mother.”

“Oh, Draco,” she whispered, “it’s been terrible.” She pulled him back into her arms. “I’m only allowed to visit your father a few days a week on account of safety precautions still being in place to keep us all apart. I just want us to be free of this…this…captivity!” She sighed. “I’ve been staying with the Greengrass family but they have the most awful taste in furniture. I know I mustn’t complain, seeing as how they’re the only ones willing to protect me, but they aren’t the powerful wizards their relatives once were. Rather soft, I fear.” She pulled back to regard him. “But I suppose they’re not the _worst_ family. And the girls _are_ quite fetching. They’d probably make decent enough wives for you to consider. Daphne was in the same year at Hogwarts as you.”

He couldn’t believe this. His mother hadn’t bothered to reach out to him and now here she was trying to play _matchmaker_ while his father was –

The thought made Draco pause in his anger and his gaze swept to the body lying on the bed. Remembering his reason for coming, he crossed over and examined his father’s face. The skin was pale and his hair was ridiculously long. “How is he?”

His mother frowned at him. “They made the cure and fed it to him but…well…he’s not himself, Draco.”

“What do you mean?”

“He…hallucinates. He believes events that are improbable are…well…probable.”

“Mother?”

She walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry that I didn’t write to you sooner but I wasn’t sure how long you would be unconscious for and I didn’t want to worry you when you woke up. Although…I guess I should have known that you would come here as soon as you were conscious enough to travel.” She squeezed his shoulder briefly before letting her hand fall back to her side. “He’s expected to live but his mind is…delirious. You mustn’t take anything he says to heart, Draco. In fact, I rather wish you hadn’t come at all.”

“Hadn’t come at – Mother, I _need_ to be here for him.” Taking a seat in the chair beside the bed, Draco addressed his father softly. “Father?”

Lucius didn’t move.

Draco looked to his mother but she merely bit her lip and shook her head. He reached out to put his hand over his father’s. At the contact, Lucius’s eyes opened but he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Father?” Draco tried again.

Lucius’s gaze didn’t waver.

Draco didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t sure there was anything he _could_ do. This wasn’t a concussion or a disease that would pass quickly. Curing poisons was Quina’s specialty, not his. Maybe he could send for her? Would she come? Of course she would. They were friends. Weren’t they?

Draco squeezed his father’s hand. “I’m here, Father.”

Lucius gasped as if it pained him to speak. The sound reminded Draco of a wounded animal drawing its dying breath and he felt his blood run cold.

“Draco…I knew you…would come. I have seen it…”

“Seen what, Father?”

“I have seen…the return, Draco,” Lucius struggled to get out. “I have seen the return…of our Dark Lord…”

Draco felt a shiver run through him. He shook his head. “Father, you have been poisoned. You are not well.”

The smile that formed on Lucius’s face was broken. “I have _seen_ it, Draco. He will rise again and restore our former glory.”

“Father, you must rest,” Draco begged. “You are not well. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

The smile died on his father’s face and turned into a sneer. “I know what I speak of. Our Master has blessed me with a vision.” His eyes blinked again. “I see him rising from the grave to avenge us pure-bloods. I see you…standing beside him…I see your glorious future…as a master of the Dark Arts.”

Draco shook his head again and felt his pulse quicken. He was struggling to keep his composure. Nightmares of the scenario his father wanted to happen plagued him often and hearing of such a scenario actually becoming _real_ was too much. He felt an attack coming on. “Father…you’re…you’re not well –”

“I see you murdering that filthy _Potter_ ,” Lucius rasped. “You can do it, Draco. You can murder him and release our Master back into this world. It is the only way.”

“Father, _please_. Voldemort is _dead_ –”

“Dare you! How _dare_ you speak his name!” Lucius cried out. His arms rose as if to lunge for Draco but his strength gave out and they fell back against the bed with a thud. He was breathing heavily. “You will learn…to respect him…when he comes again. You…will have a second chance…to please him.”

“Father –”

Narcissa put a gentle hand on Draco’s shoulder. She nodded to the hallway. “Come with me, love.”

Shakily, Draco rose from his father’s bedside. His hands were clenched into fists. He hadn’t expected his father’s condition to be like _this._ When they entered the hall, he realized Potter was nowhere to be found.

Narcissa pulled him to an empty lounge area and sat him down on the couch beside her. “He’s been like that since the attack. The doctors said that he should be getting better but nothing has changed in a week. I fear that his mind is too far gone.”

“My potion,” Draco began. His voice was choked with emotion. “It’s supposed to help people who are losing their minds. It could –”

“They tried it, Draco. They tried all sorts of things.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I am not sure what will happen. He is obsessed in a way that I have not seen him in a long time.”

“There’s no truth to what he says, right? Voldemort –”

“The poison had hallucinogenic components. It makes the drinker see what they _want_ to see. There is no truth to his words, Draco. You _must_ believe that.”

Draco was afraid. He had prided himself on being considered a potions-master but now he couldn’t think of anything to do to help. “I can’t leave him like –”

His mother squeezed his shoulder. “I will stay with him. Your father loves you, Draco. Never forget that. This… _poison_ warps his mind and distracts him but, deep down, he still cares for you. He always has.”

“I should never have taken the job at the Ministry. I –”

“ _No_ , Draco. Do not do this. Do not claim this to be your fault.”

“But I –”

His mother angled him to meet her eyes. “Hear me, my love, and understand when I tell you that of all the events that have transpired since the Dark Lord’s reign, the _only_ thing you are responsible for is trying your best to protect your family. No one can blame you for that.” She brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Your father’s condition is…not desirable but there’s nothing that we can do right now to change it. You _must_ focus on yourself and your future. Now more than ever, it is _necessary_ that you show to the world that an attack against your family will _not_ stop you from achieving your dreams.”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t say anything. Not looking at her, he eventually asked, “Is that why you didn’t write? Because you didn’t want me to see him like this?”

“Draco –”

“I don’t know what my dream _is_ , Mother.”

She pulled back a tiny bit and her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what my dream is.” His hands were shaking. “Before the attack, I just wanted to have a steady paycheck and to see my parents safe. But now, with my job and my father’s life hanging in the balance, I don’t even know if those things are possible to obtain.” He shook his head and stood up unsteadily. The room was spinning. He had pushed himself too hard after all. “Father always wanted to be able to kill Potter. Even after Voldemort’s death, even after the trials, all he wanted was to see him suffer. But I can’t follow in his footsteps. I _can’t_ kill Potter. Even if Father was right and that would bring Voldemort back and someone forced me to, I would rather choose death than kill him. I am not my father.”

“No one is seriously asking you to kill Potter, Draco. What your father speaks of is madness, nothing more.” She rose to stand before him. “You can set your own path by becoming your own master. Once you are married, you will find that –”

“I can’t get married.”

Her brow furrowed again. “What?”

The dizziness was growing and he thought he might pass out but the words were pouring out of him before he could stop them. “All my life I’ve done terrible, _terrible_ things because I wanted nothing more than to make Father and you and Voldemort proud. And now my father is possibly _dying_ and there are innocent people dead because of a hatred I helped promote and spread. Bias against blood cannot be our way of life. I love you and Father both but…I can’t do this. I can’t do as you ask.” He thought of Seelba and the other house-elves tending to him while he slept. He thought of the empty mailbox at the office. He thought of how scared for their own lives David and Hank must have been at the time of the attack yet they had taken the time to try and save him, a pure-blood. He thought of the deceased. He thought of Andrew Filiburn. He thought of Crabbe who didn’t get to have another chance at finding happiness. He thought of Potter sitting by his bedside, watching over him, smiling at him, sharing pasta with him, dancing with him, holding his hand, wanting to kiss him… “I can’t do it,” Draco whispered. His eyes welled up with tears. “I can’t follow my father’s path.”

“Draco, where is this coming from? Did Potter put you up to this?”

Draco’s hands clenched at his mother’s notion that Potter had altered his viewpoint in a vile way. “I…” The words were right there, right in the forefront of his mind. _I’m gay. I’m GAY. I can’t marry a woman to please you! I can’t be the family puppet!_ He opened his mouth and wanted to scream them at her, to make her _understand_ , but…

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t say a damn thing.

He _wanted_ to say the words but…

They wouldn’t come.

The most important words wouldn’t come.

_Coward._

_COWARD_.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Mother. But I can’t make you proud.” Shaking his head, Draco turned and fled the lounge without looking back.

_Running away is the only thing I’m good at._

He heard his mother and several Aurors call his name but he didn’t stop. Heart racing, Draco ran down the halls and leapt down a staircase. He needed to get away. He needed to calm down.

An attack was creeping up through his system and he knew he couldn’t stop it.

He barely felt it when a pair of hands grabbed him and tried to get him to stop running. On autopilot, he started to recite a hex when the hospital around him disappeared and he found himself transported to Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. The harsh impact of hitting the floor caused him not to complete the spell. His knees ached with the contact on the tiled floor. He tried to use another spell but the hands wrestled his wand away and pinned him down against the cold tiles.

“Malfoy, stop!”

He shook his head, eyes closed. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to lash out until he was free.

All he wanted was to be free.

“Malfoy, look at me!”

He tried twisting his arms but a pressure held him down. A firm hand grabbed both of his wrists and held them above his head. A gentle touch cupped his cheek and the voice whispered more quietly, “Malfoy. _Please_. Open your eyes.”

He did – only because he wanted to see his victim’s face before he murdered them – and was greeted with nothing but _green_. The sight made him pause as he realized it was Potter’s hair tickling and framing his face, allowing him to see nothing but Potter’s emerald eyes.

“Would you fucking _stop_ fighting me for one damn second? You’re safe!”

Tears were streaming down his face. At the sight, Potter’s thumb rubbed soothingly against his cheek and the hand wrapped around his wrists relaxed to a gentle hold.

“You’re safe,” Potter told him again more quietly. “You’re safe, Malfoy.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He _wasn’t_ safe. There were people out there who would stop at _nothing_ to see him dead. Matthias wasn’t the only person in the world to want pure-bloods dead and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. There was nowhere for him to go. He tugged his hands out of Potter’s grip and covered his face with them. He wished he could disappear. Everything was falling apart.

_I never should have gone to the hospital._

_I never should have accepted the job at the Ministry._

_I should have died in that tower –_

Potter was pulling him up and partially off of the floor. He felt Potter’s strong arms wrap tightly around him, pulling him against the hero’s chest. Fingers dug into his skin, keeping him secure. Potter’s touch and presence were real.

His father’s dreams weren’t.

Potter summoned a glass of water and held it up for Draco to take. “It’s not drugged or poisoned. It’s just regular water. I promise.”

_You should kill me. You should have killed me in Myrtle’s bathroom._

Draco wiped at his eyes but his hand was too shaky to take the glass. Potter seemed to understand – of course he did – and gently moved the cup to rest against Draco’s lips.

“Here,” he whispered encouragingly.

Draco closed his eyes but allowed Potter’s assistance. The water _did_ feel good running down his throat and he sighed after he swallowed. _If it_ is _poisoned then at least I will have had something refreshing before I die._ Once he was done drinking, he wrapped his arms back around himself as Potter sat by his side.

Neither of them spoke.

Draco wanted to Disapparate and save himself this embarrassment but he knew he wasn’t in any shape to use proper magic, wandless or not. Instead he sat there, occasionally wiping at his eyes and trying to even out his breathing, while he waited for the attack to ebb.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed – him occasionally drinking water with Potter’s help while struggling with intrusive thoughts as Potter stayed silent – until his shaking at least calmed down enough for him to settle a bit. But his father’s words troubled him and he found himself rambling. “My father, he…he wanted me to kill you. He said that if I did then Voldemort would come back.” His voice grew shaky and he tried to focus enough to make it regain its steadiness. “It’s not true. I _know_ it’s not true. But I dream of it. Every night I fear that he _will_ come back and – and that will be the end of it. And when Father said that – when he said that it _could_ happen – even if it can’t, I – I couldn’t…I couldn’t…” He trailed off for a moment before he remembered what Potter had said when the Chosen One had had his own breakdown. Looking up and into Potter’s eyes, Draco found himself repeating the hero’s own words. “I’m angry about living.”

Potter gasped. It was a soft sound – a genuine response. Clearly the hero remembered saying those words to Draco. Emerald eyes filled with emotion and Draco found that he couldn’t handle it. His gaze dropped to the floor as he said, “I’m angry that my dream might have been taken away from me. I’m angry that everyone always has expectations of me. I’m angry that I’m alive after being set on fire but Crabbe –”

A long moment passed between them.

“I’m…not as good with words as you are when comforting someone.”

Draco flinched but didn’t say anything.

“But…I want you to know that if I can learn to find reasons to live…then so can you.”

From his peripheral vision, Draco saw Potter wave a hand and a small, familiar box appeared on the floor beside him.

“I wasn’t going through your stuff!” Potter said at once. “It was sitting on top of the pile of stuff the house-elves brought from what was salvaged at the Manor and I recognized what was inside and I thought…”

Draco’s gaze bore into the box. After a beat his hands slowly reached out to cup it. Flipping the box open, his eyes landed on the signet family ring he had worn at his party.

“You told me once that we should all be able to decide our reasons for living. Don’t you think that should include you, too?”

There was no way that Potter could have known that Draco’s father had given him this ring before Voldemort. There was no way that Potter could have known that Voldemort had blessed this piece of jewelry in front of the other Death Eaters and had informed Draco that he would make a wonderful supporter until the end of time.

“Reasons for living can change. Your happiness matters, Malfoy. More than you seem to think it does.” Potter blushed as he looked away. “One of the Aurors told me that Shacklebolt’s going to let you and your mom leave the secure areas you both have been staying in. But you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Consider this my formal invitation.” His gaze fell to the box in Draco’s hands. “I understand if you want to return to the Manor and try to restore it.”

Minutes passed as Draco stared at the ring. His wand flew to his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter flinch but Draco’s gaze didn’t stray from the ring. Pointing his wand, he closed his eyes and concentrated. It took two tries but finally the ring exploded into a shower of sparkles. His eyes traced their movement as they drifted to the floor around him before disappearing. After using his magic for the first time in a long time, he felt truly exhausted and ready to pass out. His body swayed but a set of strong arms was there to catch him.

He was conscious of Potter’s eyes on his face and he took a breath before whispering, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Malfoy.”

_You should call me Draco._

The last thing he saw before he passed out was Potter’s beautiful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this chapter's delay. Draco's starting to make a stand - hooray! Things will also start picking up speed with the steam train. Rating might go up as a reminder. Please leave a review if it's to your liking!


	14. Killer Whales and Komodo Dragons

“How’d you know?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you know about the ring?”

Potter shrugged as he pulled his knees up to his chest. “It had your family’s insignia on it. I know pure-bloods love their family stuff.”

Draco eyed him skeptically. It was a flimsy excuse. “Oh?”

Potter rested his chin on his knees. He wasn’t looking at Draco. “It looks different when it’s not covered in blood.”

Draco’s brow furrowed briefly before he realized what Potter was talking about. Subtly he pressed a hand against where he knew one of the more prominent scars rested under his shirt. _I forgot I had been wearing it that day._ Not knowing what to say in reply, he turned his gaze back to the nature documentary they were watching. It featured animals of various ecosystems but was currently playing to act as background noise more than entertainment.

After Draco had regained consciousness, they had each changed into pajamas and silently agreed not to separate. They had made their way to the living room and were now lounging comfortably with mugs of hot cocoa in their hands and a blanket shared between them in front of the same telly they had sat in front of during that one Sunday’s Incident.

Neither of them commented on the room or the familiarity of the situation.

**“Orcas are apex predators, at the top of the food chain. Killer whales feed on sea birds, squid, octopuses, sea turtles, sharks, rays, and fish. They also eat marine animals, such as seals and dugongs,”** the documentary’s narrator recited.

“How’d you know blowing it up would help?”

“I didn’t,” Potter replied, still not looking at him. “But I’ve been known to lash out when I’ve had an attack and thought maybe it could help you.”

“You always _did_ seem to have anger issues.”

“Well, it didn’t help that I had the voice of a Dark Wizard constantly in my head.”

Draco sipped at his cocoa.

**“Average-sized killer whales may eat about 227 kilograms of food a day.”**

He traced the rim of his mug with a finger. “If I hadn’t nearly gotten myself blown up…would you have reached out to me after Sunday?”

Potter didn’t answer for a long moment.

**“Killer whales will often act in social groups known as ‘pods’ to surround and attack a larger mammal like another type of whale. They will chase, bite, or try to drown the large mammal until it gets worn down enough for them to finish it off and consume it.”**

“I wrote letters…they all sucked,” Potter mumbled under his breath. His cheeks took on a light blush at the confession when Draco glanced at him. “Nothing sounded right.”

Draco made a noise of consideration in response and turned back to the documentary. Without looking at Potter, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

**“Killer whales have only one predator in the wild: man.”**

Draco found his gaze drifting back to examine Potter. Despite his relaxed form, Potter looked guarded. Draco frowned. He wanted to break through that guard and connect with him. He wanted Potter to know that he truly was sorry for everything. “At the time, I didn’t think I could maintain a friendship with you without forming an attraction. I still don’t think I can.”

Potter’s jaw clenched briefly before he asked, “Do you still think I’m beneath you because I’m not a pure-blood?”

“No.” He opened his mouth to elaborate but then closed it.

**XXXX**

_If he’s not going to say anything further about it then I’m not either. No point in getting rejected twice in this room. I’ll start thinking the space is cursed._

The documentary switched from discussing Arctic creatures to wildlife found in parts of Southeast Asia – specifically creatures found in Indonesia – and Harry found himself genuinely interested in what was happening on the screen. It was a nice distraction from thinking about where their conversation had been heading.

“The ultimate killers,” he whispered in awe as a komodo dragon appeared on the screen.

He saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow from his peripheral vision. “A killer whale could easily kill a komodo dragon if it needed or wanted to,” the blond deadpanned.

“Well, sure, probably, but these things are still insane.” Harry adjusted so that his left shoulder was pressed against the back of the couch and his upper-half was turned toward Malfoy. “After seeing the crazy creatures that exist in the Wizarding World, I tend to forget that there are perfectly crazy, non-magical creatures existing on our planet.”

“‘ _Probably_?’”

Harry ignored him. “Did you know that they can run over 40 miles per hour? And that they can _climb_ trees? Can a killer whale climb a tree?”

Malfoy stared at him blankly. “It wouldn’t have to climb a tree. You enter its waters and it will kill you before you have the time to think about trees. Or land for that matter.”

Harry rested his head against the back of the couch. He had lost track of time but didn’t feel particularly hungry. “Okay…but they’re still pretty cool. They can consume eighty percent of their body weight in one sitting.”

“I thought all Potters were jocks, not nerds.”

“Right, because ‘hidden nerdiness’ is _your_ specialty.”

“I’m not a nerd.”

“You study potions. You’re a nerd.”

Malfoy scoffed. “ _You’re_ the one with proficiency in animal studies! How do you know so much about them anyway? I don’t remember you performing particularly well in Care of Magical Creatures.”

“If I remember correctly, and I do, _I’m_ not the one who nearly got killed by a Hippogriff.”

“You just had to bring that up.”

Harry smirked. It was easy to talk like this and about stuff like this. Nothing deep or soul-wrenching. Nothing about failed not-dates or broken hearts or blood purity. “Before attending Hogwarts, I went to a Muggle school. For science class, we often had to do reports on animals. I chose komodo dragons once and the information stuck with me. I like watching things about nature after an attack. It’s…calming. Reminds me that there’s more to the world than magic and Voldemort and the Dark Arts.”

Malfoy was quiet for a moment as he contemplated Harry’s words. Had the blond never considered that Harry would have gone to a regular, Muggle, public school before?

“Komodo dragons are closely related to snakes, right? Could you talk to one if you met one in real life?”

“Oh. Well, maybe, but I lost the Parseltongue ability when Voldemort died.”

That damned eyebrow quirked again. “But you still have the scar.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his cocoa. “Some things went away…others didn’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

The memory of seeing Malfoy’s half-naked body earlier in the day hadn’t left his mind and despite not wanting to turn the nature of the conversation to something serious, Harry felt compelled to ask, “Do they hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“The scars.”

“Not anymore.” Malfoy gave him a level look. “Do yours?”

The wording of the question implied that Harry had obtained more than one notable mark during the years of Voldemort’s reign of terror and he felt a bit surprised by the question. Surely Malfoy had never seen the burn mark on his chest or the old gashes on his back. But he felt that Malfoy had been more honest than usual with him tonight so he felt inclined to answer the question truthfully.

“Not anymore. This scar –” he pointed to his forehead “– doesn’t burn or sting the way it used to when Voldemort was doing stuff. But I have a burn mark from one of the Horcruxes that sometimes itches. It’s more of an annoyance than anything else, though.”

Malfoy nodded in understanding. “I…have nightmares where I’m bleeding out or suffocating or dying in some manner beyond my control but…when I wake up, the scars don’t hurt me. They’re just…there.” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. “This never moves or hurts. I keep waiting – keep _expecting_ to see it move but it doesn’t. It doesn’t.”

Harry watched him pull his sleeve back down before looking back at the telly. “I get that.”

**“Female komodo dragons can reproduce without having sex. The reproduction from an ovum without fertilization is known as parthenogenesis.”**

“Bet that would make your whole ‘needing to carry on the family line’ issue a lot easier,” Harry remarked. He realized it might have come across as crass and he quickly looked over at Malfoy. But the blond was giving a small half-smile. Slowly the grin fell, though, and the blond’s expression darkened.

“I hadn’t expected my father to be in such a rough shape when I went there. Malfoys are strong, proud creatures. We…fight against the odds to carry on. It’s our way of life. Dominance and control…” Malfoy trailed off for a minute as his gaze fell to the floor. “I tried to hide my own mixed emotions about the assassination attempt from myself, figuring that seeing my father well would prove that I’m…I don’t know – doing something right?” He sighed as he lowered his empty mug to the table. “I thought seeing him would grant reassurance that I’m on the right path. But I just felt more lost than ever.” He frowned. “It was overwhelming. If I had been the only target and survived then it would have been no matter. Plenty of people have tried and failed to kill me before. But my _parents_ were targeted. And in the future, the person I _marry_ will be targeted. My _children_ will be targeted. I thought I could handle that knowledge and responsibility on my own but…” Grey eyes met green before glancing away. “I know I’m probably not making much sense to you. But you should know that I…I told my mother I wouldn’t follow in my father’s path and marry a pure-blood for the sake of tradition.”

Harry had chosen the _wrong_ moment to take a sip of his cocoa and choked on the liquid at Malfoy’s words. Clearing his throat, he spluttered, “What?”

The blond gave a small shrug and suddenly Malfoy seemed a lot smaller to Harry. “The madness had started seeping in _before_ he got poisoned. It’s partially why I chose the field of dementia to study. I thought that by creating a potion to help mind sickness, I could help make him see reason again. But Mother told me that my cure wasn’t working. When I heard him spouting all of that rubbish, I...” Malfoy picked the empty mug back up and moved it between his hands, needing something to hold. “Selfishly, I ran instead of asking the doctors about different medicines to try. A proper son would have tried to find a different cure instead of running away. All I ever wanted was to make him proud but…I failed him. Again. Again and again I fail him.”

“Couldn’t you try talking to the doctors again?”

Malfoy shook his head. “Mother said that they’re doing everything they can but nothing seems to be working.” His gaze darkened. “He _chose_ his path and refused to alter it. Voldemort fed off of my father’s hatred for Muggles and inspired that hatred to grow. Now he’s sick in the mind because of it and…and I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want hatred to cloud my vision. I don’t want to be known for the rest of my life as someone who enjoys torturing and murdering Muggles. That’s not _me_. Not anymore.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. “Malfoy, what are you –”

“I want to return to work at the Ministry. I want to keep discovering new ways to help people who are in need of it. I think you were right when you said that I won’t find happiness by conforming to tradition. Nearly getting blown up helped me realize that.” He took a breath. “At this rate, I don’t think my father will ever _truly_ be happy because of the hatred he harbors. I’m angry but I can’t let that stop me from _trying_ to do right by you and the rest of the world.” His eyes _finally_ met Harry’s and the dark-haired boy felt rooted to the spot. “I am sorry. I feel like I’m continuously causing you pain and I don’t want to. I thought that if I ran from you then I’d spare us both heartache. But I guess I suck at running away.”

Harry didn’t know what to say.

But he knew what he _wanted_ to do.

Slowly, he shuffled closer on the couch so that he could reach Malfoy. Stretching out, he placed a gentle hand on Malfoy’s knee and met his eyes.

“That’s…a lot to process but…I’m proud of you for standing up for your own happiness. And I forgive you, for what it’s worth.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes but he was smiling a bit. “You never were known for your quick wit, Potter.” He moved Harry’s hand off of his knee and placed it on the couch between them but kept his hand over Harry’s.

Warmth seeped through him and Harry smiled, despite still trying to wrap his brain around all that Malfoy had just told him. “So…so you stood up to your parents? You did that after what, like, two weeks of being asleep?”

“Weren’t expecting it, were you?”

“No, not really, no.”

Malfoy gave a small chuckle.

**XXXX**

Harry was shocked, to say the least. He had given up hope on Malfoy turning against the tide of tradition. In fact, Harry had mentally prepared to see Malfoy pack his bags and leave after the night was over. But the pure-blood didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving.

Harry didn’t know what to say.

Malfoy still hadn’t moved his hand off of Harry’s.

A flurry of hope rushed through his chest but he couldn’t act on it. Malfoy had just opened up to him and he didn’t want to be accused of taking advantage. Not again. Clearing his throat, Harry nodded but couldn’t seem to find the words to voice a line of thought. Luckily, Malfoy saved him the embarrassment of possibly running his mouth by admitting, “I didn’t say everything I wanted to say and I’m sure the matter isn’t settled but I haven’t been burned off of that family tapestry downstairs yet so I guess it’s a start.”

“What did your mom say?”

“She didn’t understand. But I think, with time, she will. I don’t know. There’s a lot that I haven’t told her. And I’m honestly too exhausted to think too deeply about it right now.”

“Do you want me to turn this off?” Harry asked, nodding at the television.

Malfoy shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s watch another episode.”

**XXXX**

When Draco opened his eyes, the first thing he realized was that his head was _not_ resting on a regular pillow. From his line of sight, he could see a body next to his and ascertained that his head was resting on a shoulder.

_Potter’s_ shoulder.

He must have drifted closer to the Chosen One over the course of the evening and fallen asleep beside him. A blush rose to his cheeks. _Should I move?_ He’d probably disturb Potter with the motion and the last thing he wanted was for Potter to wake up and discover that Draco was a cuddler. Plus Potter was snoring peacefully and Draco didn’t have the heart to wake him. _How long has it been since he’s had a proper night’s rest?_ Potter’s head was resting comfortably against Draco’s. Despite the quickening of his heartbeat, Draco stayed perfectly still and tried to relax. His gaze traveled down the portion of Potter’s body that he _could_ see from the tilted angle and found the Chosen One’s right hand resting loosely on Draco’s left leg. He stared at the appendage and wondered if Potter could feel his body heat in his sleep. But he truly _was_ exhausted and before long, Draco felt his eyes closing and his mind drifting off to sleep once more.

**XXXX**

The next time he awoke, Draco found himself lying across the couch with the blanket covering his entire body. A _real_ pillow was tucked under his head and Potter was nowhere to be found. Blinking away the grogginess of sleep, he sat up and took in his surroundings. The mugs from last night had been cleared away, probably by the house-elves. He wondered if his brief awakening on Potter’s shoulder had been a dream.

Suddenly, Seelba appeared with a few more of the Malfoy family house-elves in tow. They carried in a large tray of food with bacon, pancakes, and an omelet to greet him.

“Master needs to eat lots to regain his strength,” Seelba informed him, placing the trays on the table in front of him. “Master has not had a proper breakfast in a long time.”

_Since before the attack, at any rate._

“I was not expecting this,” Draco replied, sitting up and moving to perch on the edge of the couch. Whether he meant the food or waking up alone or falling asleep beside Potter in the first place, he wasn’t sure. How long had he spent with his head on Potter’s shoulder? Had the house-elves seen them? He was fairly certain that none of his house-elves would dare say anything smart about it. Tradition would probably prevent Kreacher from saying anything either. But Draco couldn’t be certain. He scrutinized his servants. Seelba and the other house-elves seemed to be acting normally. Maybe Potter had woken up and left the room before they could be spotted?

“Thank you for this.” He picked up a glass of juice and tried to ask casually, “Is Potter around?”

“He’s on the phone downstairs. He spoke with the Minister earlier but now he’s speaking with a Sir Longbottom.”

“Why’d he call the Minister?”

“He didn’t call him. The Minister called here. From what Seelba could hear, Sir Potter updated the Minister on Master’s health and asked about when Master can return to work. He was inquiring on behalf of you, Master.”

Draco felt a funny feeling inside. “He inquired on behalf of me? Why? I’m perfectly capable of calling Shacklebolt myself now that I’m awake.”

“Seelba thinks Sir Potter did not want to wake Master. Seelba thinks Sir Potter figured he was already talking to the Minister and might as well ask while he had the Minister on the line. Seelba does not think Sir Potter meant any ill intent.”

_Master Draco thinks Seelba seems to have taken a shining for Sir Potter_ , Draco thought bitterly as he sipped his juice. _Master Draco wonders if he should scalp Seelba now or later._

Seelba fidgeted. “Sir Potter wanted to surprise you if the news was good. By what he said, it seems like you can return to work whenever you are feeling able, Master.” The house-elf frowned. “Seelba probably should not have told Master then if it was supposed to be a surprise.”

Draco felt torn between wanting to be angry that Potter was still doing things for him and being touched that Potter had wanted to surprise him with something like this. It meant that Potter had really listened to him last night and understood what he had been trying to say. If Seelba had heard correctly and Draco really _was_ able to return to work whenever he wanted to, then one of Draco’s main worries would be lifted.

“Are you sure that you heard correctly, Seelba?”

The house-elf nodded. “Seelba is pretty certain, Master. But Sir Potter will probably be up to talk to you after he gets off the phone. You should eat before your food gets cold.”

**XXXX**

He finished eating and started making his way to his bedroom to grab a fresh pair of clothes for the new day when Potter’s voice traveled up the stairs to meet him. The sound momentarily paralyzed him as memories of how good Potter’s body felt beside his hit him. Draco blinked and moved closer to the staircase on instinct. Potter was still on the phone and had his back facing Draco. He didn’t _want_ to eavesdrop on Potter but something caused him to press against the wall and hide in the shadows.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just ask me whatever it is that you want to ask me when you come home for Christmas. If it’s so bloody important then just ask me now for Merlin’s sake.” Potter was quiet for a moment as he listened to the reply from the other end of the line. “Yes, I _know_ all of that but –” He was cut off and Draco could tell by the way those shoulders tensed that it was _not_ a pleasant conversation for Potter. “All right, I’ll come. But only if they still serve pumpkin juice.” Potter paused to listen before saying his goodbyes and hanging up. From where he lingered, Draco heard the Chosen One call for Kreacher. The house-elf appeared beside the hero and Draco heard Potter say, “I need you to do a few things for me, Kreach.”

The house-elf bowed his head.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone for but I imagine it won’t be longer than a few hours. Can you feed Hootia and give her some extra treats while I’m gone?”

“Certainly, Master.”

“And I’ll need my winter boots and robes just in case the weather turns foul.”

“Of course.”

“And…” Potter shifted his stance and turned to face the stairwell. Draco quickly pressed closer against the wall to hide. He couldn’t see Potter from the new angle but he heard him say quietly, “Never mind. I’ll tell him.”

**XXXX**

Harry didn’t want any of the house-elves inhabiting the townhouse telling Malfoy where he was going – he wanted to tell the pure-blood himself. He had woken up with his head resting against Malfoy and their hands intertwined. While it had felt wonderful, Harry couldn’t help but blush at the memory. He hadn’t _planned_ on falling asleep beside Malfoy. He hadn’t _planned_ on cuddling the blond. Thank Merlin he had woken up before Malfoy. Harry couldn’t imagine what fun the blond would have poked at him if he had discovered how much Harry loved to cuddle.

He made his way up the stairs and found Malfoy looking for a fresh set of clothes in his bedroom. The blond didn’t turn around as he asked, “Plans for the day?”

Harry shuffled into the doorway and leaned against the frame. His gaze raked over Malfoy’s figure, pausing briefly on the shapely form of Malfoy’s bum. Realizing he was blatantly checking out his houseguest, Harry blinked and replied, “Yeah…Neville called. He wrote to me earlier in the week but I’ve been ignoring it. He said he has something important to ask me. I’m not sure what it is.”

“Isn’t he at Hogwarts?”

“Yeah.”

Malfoy stilled in his movement and turned to meet Harry’s eyes. Those grey orbs were inspective as he asked, “And you’re going?”

“Unfortunately.”

A minute passed.

“Shall I –”

“No,” Harry interrupted quickly, “I’m fine. It’s fine. He said it’s urgent but not life-threatening. And we’re meeting in Hogsmeade, not the castle. I’ll be Glamoured.”

Malfoy didn’t look convinced. “You accompanied me to the hospital. It’s the least I –”

“Seriously, Malfoy. It’s okay. This is something I need to do on my own, I think.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. Oh, Shacklebolt called this morning,” Harry began. He crossed his arms and looked away. “You were still asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.” He tried to fight the blush as he focused on his words. “He was just checking in. I told him you were awake from your mini-coma and coherent and doing standard magic. He seemed pleased. He also said that you’re welcome to return to work whenever you’re feeling up to it. ‘Mione will probably greet you whenever you return.”

“Granger? Why?”

“Seelba didn’t tell you?”

An eyebrow quirked.

“Shacklebolt’s named Hermione his successor. She starts training this week.”

Malfoy turned back to his dresser and withdrew his clothing for the day. His tone remained steady as he asked, “Was it a political stunt or is he truly supportive of her?”

Harry frowned. “Hermione’s worked hard to make it to the top. She’s spent three years earning this.”

“Other Ministry employees have spent _decades_ earning it and even more personnel haven’t had as many disastrous failures as she’s experienced lately. Minister for Magic is not a position that should be handed out freely. I can’t imagine she won’t be targeted.”

“What happened with Matthias Scatterly wasn’t her fault –”

“No but she _did_ let him escape long enough to ensure four Ministry of Magic employees were killed. And now Shacklebolt’s making her the future Minister. I can’t imagine many folks will be pleased with this move. She should decline the offer if she has half as much sense as I once thought she had.”

Harry felt his hackles rise and opened his mouth to fight back when he saw a vein pulsing on the side of Malfoy’s forehead and noticed the blond’s hands were clenched in the fabric of his clothing. Harry blinked and asked, “Wait. You’re worried about her…aren’t you?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Please. As if I’d care about that annoying mud-blood.” He slammed the dresser drawer shut. “I just think that someone as intelligent as her would be able to recognize a terrible decision like this one. She’ll be dead within the year if she continues on this path.”

Harry stepped further into the room. “She’s well-guarded and highly advanced with magic.”

“They said my father was well-guarded too but assassins still got to him.” A beat of silence passed and Malfoy shook his head. “She’s being stupid and selfish. You should talk some sense into her before she gets killed.” He turned away from the dresser and flicked his hair over his shoulder. “Regardless, I am glad that I have permission to return to work. It will be good to resume my projects.”

Ignoring the brief uneasiness, Harry asked, “Are you ready to go back? You don’t have to –”

“I know. But I need to go back. It will help with…everything.”

“What are you going to do today?”

“I have a feeling I have more things to burn that were once in great connection to Voldemort. It will be cathartic to go through it all.”

“So…you’re feeling all right, then? No nausea or dizziness?”

Malfoy flicked his head and his bangs shifted over his eyes. “You can’t use your sickly housemate as an excuse to get out of seeing Longbottom.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Are you sure? Because spending the day lounging around this place burning stuff with you sounds way better than going back there.”

“I would think fighting a centaur would be better than going back there…especially considering they still inhabit the Forbidden Forest.”

“For something that was entitled ‘Forbidden’ we went there an awful lot.”

Malfoy was smiling. It was small but genuine and eased some of the tension from their discussion about Hermione. Knowing he was responsible for putting Malfoy at ease put a funny feeling in Harry’s stomach. He grinned back.

“I have a feeling if you hadn’t been the rule-breaker you were in school then you wouldn’t be called the Boy Who Lived anymore.”

“You have a point.” His gaze drifted down to Malfoy’s chest and remembered the scars hidden beneath the pajama shirt. He wondered if he would be able to see them again. “Will _you_ be all right here? It seems like neither of us has had a moment to chill in a while.”

“You’re forgetting that I only woke up from my two week nap yesterday.” The blond stepped forward and into Harry’s personal space. His hair was mussed from the couch and Harry longed to run his fingers through it. It was nice seeing Malfoy in disheveled pajamas and not dressed to the nines. It made him more human.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Harry fought the blush that threatened to take over his face. Now was _not_ the time for such thoughts. He had to fetch his things from Kreacher and leave for Hogsmeade.

A gentle index finger startled him when it lifted Harry’s chin so his eyes met Malfoy’s.

“It’s sweet of you to worry – truly – but I’ll be _fine_ , Potter. I have no plans of risking my life today by disturbing the peace.”

Harry’s stomach flipped at the way Malfoy was looking at him with that small smile on his lips. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. His gaze flittered down to those lips. “Promise?”

**XXXX**

Potter’s lips had no business looking so inviting when they moved around the request. Draco wanted to lean in and reassure Potter physically but he couldn’t. Not because of tradition but because Potter looked so vulnerable in that moment – Draco didn’t want to spook him before the hero vanished. However, he _did_ stroke the underside of Potter’s chin once before pulling his hand away and nodding. “Promise.”

Potter seemed pleased with his reply and nodded in return. _Merlin, that smile is breathtaking._ Draco watched him turn and leave the room. He listened as Potter’s footsteps traveled down the hall, down the staircase, paused to retrieve his things from Kreacher, and journeyed out the front door.

For a long moment after Potter had left, Draco simply stood there and wondered when he could get his hands on Potter again.

**XXXX**

He had agreed to meet Neville at Hogsmeade rather than the castle. Apparating outside the village made him pause and draw a shaky breath. It was still quiet in the morning lull and not many people were wandering the streets. Shops were just beginning to open and a cloudy overcast predicted possible snow later in the day. A few new businesses had sprung up but the classics were still there. Memories tickled his mind as he made his way through the village, cleverly Glamoured to avoid any interruptions. He held his robes tighter against the cold and the memories and trekked across the landscape to the front door of the Three Broomsticks. He knocked quickly and waited, casting a suspicious look around to make sure nobody was paying him any mind. It was barely ten in the morning – the pub didn’t open to the public until noon. Before he could knock again, the door opened just enough for a hand to reach out and grab his wrist, pulling him into the pub, and closing the door behind him. As he regained his footing, he heard the door lock behind him and turned to see the smiling face of Madam Rosmerta standing before him.

“Why, the devil be blessed if it isn’t Harry James Potter come back to raise all kinds of trouble! How have you been, sweetheart? You never come to visit me with any of your gang and, I must say, business just has _not_ been the same since.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin as she pulled him in for a quick hug. “Hello, Madam Rosmerta. It has been a while.”

Her curly hair bobbed as she pulled back to scrutinize him with her pretty, green eyes as he took off his winter robes. She shifted her weight and put a finger to her chin. “Hm. Well, you’ve certainly been working out in the years since I’ve seen you. Used to be such a beanpole, you did. Glad to see you’ve grown into something of a looker – just like your father!” She winked at him before moving behind the bar. “What can I fetch ya?”

Harry moved to take a seat on a barstool as he looked around. The place hadn’t changed at all since his school years and it made him wonder what it would have been like to come here and enjoy a pint after graduating without the horrors of Voldemort lingering in his mind. The pub was empty, having only been opened early to allow him and Neville a private place to talk.

“Pumpkin juice, if you have it, please.” He watched her pour the drink for a moment, wondering what to say. The pub was never this empty and knowing it was just the two of them was a bit unnerving. “Did Neville say he’s on his way?”

“Aye, he probably got held up by a student or some nonsense. Comes here often enough, he does. Quite the loyal patron. Him and that damn Zabini boy.”

“Zabini? _Blaise_ Zabini? They come here together?”

“Not ‘together’ but usually they wind up having a pint on Friday evenings before the night is over.” A heavy knock sounded on the door and Harry jumped a bit at the sound. “Though, I reckon he’ll tell you more about it once I let him in.” He watched her move to the door and unlock it. Neville came barreling in, slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late! My first class is very inquisitive about Puffapods and I had to answer all sorts of questions. It’s amazing, Harry! I have students that actually _care_ about Herbology! Sprout would hex me out of jealousy if she knew.”

“Or she’d be happy for you,” Harry said wisely as he stood up to shake hands with and embrace his friend. “It’s good to see you, Neville.”

The professor pulled back and beamed. His hair had gotten a bit longer and he had lost a little bit of weight from all the squatting and lifting that comes with teaching a gardening-related course. But his face was still the same and he was as excitable as ever. “It’s good to see you too, Harry. Thanks for coming.” He took off his coat and moved to drape it over a barstool. “And thank _you_ for giving us this space to use, Madam Rosmerta. It was very kind of you.”

She shrugged nonchalantly as she wiped down the counter. It was already spotless. “Never you mind, Professor. The war’s end brought my customers back in full. You two can have anything you like…within reason.” She winked again.

Neville and Harry both blushed as they took their seats. For a moment they just looked at each other, relishing in their reunited companionship.

“It really is good to see you,” Neville told him quietly. He reached out for the mug of juice that Rosmerta handed him and held it up to Harry in a toast. “Again, thanks for coming. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

Harry clinked their mugs together and took a long draw of his drink before replying, “It feels weird but not unfamiliar. I’m glad nobody recognized me. Thanks for coming here so early in the day when it’s kind of empty.” He placed his mug down and looked back at Neville. “How have you been? How’s teaching?”

“It’s amazing,” Neville replied and his grin was infectious. “I was so nervous last year when I started teaching. Of course I made all kinds of mistakes that still make me flinch to think about but everyone’s been a huge help getting me through my first year. And now I feel like I’m getting something of a handle on things. But it’s so crazy to enter a teacher’s lounge and see Professor – I mean, _Cuthbert_ – Binns floating around or to have a casual chat about the weather with Poppy Pomfrey. I keep calling them all by their titles and they keep scolding me for it. Well, except for Professor Flitwick. He appreciates my usage of his title and frowns upon alumni calling him by his first name. Old school, I guess. I don’t mind it, though. It’s really cool getting to know them all as colleagues.”

“Are you enjoying your classes?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. A couple of annoying students but, overall, they’re pretty great. I covered mandrakes with the second years a few weeks ago and they went _nuts_ over the little blighters. I didn’t pass out this time, either!” He laughed. “It’s nerve-wracking, sure, but very rewarding.” His eyes were shining and it made Harry’s heart melt a bit at his friend’s happiness. “I’m glad I did this. Who would have thought I’d be a teacher?”

Harry reached out and put a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “I’m glad you found what makes you happy, mate.”

Neville grinned back. Harry was thankful when he didn’t ask him what was happening on his end.

“How is everyone? At the castle, I mean.”

“‘Recovering’ is the best way to cover it all,” Neville began, lowering his mug. “The castle has been restored and McGonagall is surpassing every and any expectation as Headmistress. She helped me a lot my first year of teaching and still helps me constantly with any issue I have with no complaints. She’s tough but fair and listens to all sides.”

“What about the others?”

Neville eyed him and instantly knew what Harry was asking. “We could go see him if you want. I think he’s on break, like me.”

Harry quickly shook his head. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Are you sure? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Harry squeezed the handle of his mug. “Yeah…it has.”

Neville didn’t say anything. Silence passed between them, both of them drinking from their mugs while Rosmerta paced around the pub with a broom.

“You _could_ see him, if you wanted to,” Neville said slowly. “It doesn’t have to be today but you _should_ see him, Harry. He misses you a great deal.”

“I miss him too. I just…” Harry looked into his mug. “I need more time. I want to have some things in order first before I go back to the castle and see him and McGonagall and…everyone. I feel too much like a failure right now.”

It was Neville’s turn to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know it probably won’t help anything to tell you this, but you’re the complete opposite of a failure. And everyone would tell you the same thing if you got up the nerve to go see them.”

Harry gave a small smile. “Since when are you the brave guy who makes sense of everything?”

Neville squeezed his shoulder. “Since I met this silly boy with a scar who helped me find my courage.”

Harry shook his head to try and hide his eyes behind his bangs but it was no good – the tears started falling.

“Come here, you dolt,” Neville laughed as he pulled Harry in for a hug. It had been too long since they had seen each other. The professor was tearing up himself. “I haven’t even asked you what I wanted to ask you yet and we’re already emotional.”

Harry sniffled through a chuckle as he wrapped his arms tightly around Neville for a few seconds before pulling back and wiping his eyes. “What did you want to ask me?”

Neville rubbed his own eyes on his sleeve before asking, “So…you know how Hannah Abbott and I have been a thing for a bit?”

“Yeah? She runs the Leaky Cauldron, right? I’ve run into her a couple times over the years.”

“Right…well…I’ve asked her to marry me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you two were so serious about each other.”

“The timing felt right. We’ve both got successful jobs and can afford to pay for a wedding and everything. It just…it feels right.”

“That’s wonderful, mate! I’m happy for you both.” Harry reached out and pulled Neville in for another hug. “That’s amazing!” He hadn’t been expecting this. Neville and Hannah _had_ been dating for a couple years by now but Harry hadn’t given it much thought lately.

Neville laughed as he quickly returned the embrace. “Yeah, we’re both really excited. We’re not sure when the date is, yet, but…” He pulled back and met Harry’s eyes warmly. “I wanted to ask you formally if you’d be my best man.”

Emotions tumbled through Harry so quickly that all he could say was, “Huh…?”

Neville laughed. “I’m serious! I want you to be my best man at my wedding.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Neville!”

“Harry!”

His cheeks were beginning to hurt with how widely he was smiling. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, mate! Be my best man?”

“Neville, I – yes, this is – yes! Yes! I’d love to!”

Neville started laughing and Harry joined in. He couldn’t believe it. _Neville’s asked me to be his best man!_ “I’m honored, Neville. Really. This is...this is nuts,” Harry laughed. He couldn’t believe it! “You’re getting married!”

“It’s crazy for me, too. I’m so happy you said yes,” Neville replied with a sigh of relief. “I hoped you would but I wasn’t sure –”

“Are you kidding? This is amazing!”

“I’m so glad!” Neville clapped both of his shoulders as he continued, “I wanted to wait to ask the others to be my ushers until I got to ask you about the best man thing and my parents will be at the wedding and Hannah’s already got her dress picked out and we already know what kind of cake we want even though we haven’t set a date yet and it’s still so new but we’re thinking maybe a spring wedding or fall of next year because Hannah loves the fall and I don’t particularly mind it myself and –”

As Neville went on excitedly, Harry’s mind swam to try and take it all in. He had always figured, somewhat selfishly, that Ron would ask him to be his best man but to have someone else ask him as well was mind-blowing. Neville truly was one of his oldest and best friends and while they didn’t see each other as often as they would like, it meant a great deal to Harry that Neville had asked this high favor of him. He felt bad about being so stubborn in coming.

“It’s definitely exciting, that’s for sure,” Harry interjected when Neville paused to breathe. “You said your parents will be going?”

“Yeah. Mom’s started recognizing me.”

“What? Neville, are you serious?”

The professor nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah. You know that potion that Malfoy made? It’s been helping her the last few months. I visited them right before the school year started and she said my name. She said my _name_ , Harry.” His eyes filled with tears. “She’ll never be back to her old self but the doctors thought she would never remember me. _I_ thought she would never remember me. But she _did_ remember, Harry! She said my name when she was giving me a gum wrapper. She said my name!”

Harry was more thankful for Madam Rosmerta than he had ever been in his life when she silently slipped them a box of tissues and disappeared to clean her own face before her customers started arriving.

Knowing that words wouldn’t justly explain the depth of what he was feeling, Harry handed Neville a couple of tissues and pulled him close. Harry wrapped his arms around Neville’s neck and rested his chin against the side of Neville’s head. Neville was like the brother he never had and he loved him, despite initially not wanting to come.

_I’m glad that things are_ finally _turning around for you, Neville_ , Harry channeled in his mind as he held Neville close. _Your suffering’s coming to a close and it’s awesome. You never deserved any of it. You only deserve happiness._

Neville was shaking in his arms but Harry knew without looking that he was smiling through the tears. “It’s getting better, Harry,” he whispered, holding Harry tightly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

And, in that moment, Harry believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes from the documentary scene are all from real documentaries or nature websites. I love animal documentaries myself and use them to recover from attacks so I couldn't help but seize on the opportunity to insert a bit of myself into this chapter.   
> The Neville scene was really important to me as a good segway into preparing for something future to come. Also, I think being involved in planning a wedding will help Harry change his negative tune about marriage a bit. (Especially with a hot date to the wedding - spoilers!)  
> I'm happy with the length of this chapter. I didn't want to cram in too much too soon. But the holidays are approaching in this ficverse which means mistletoe will be a factor and meddling house-elves will be a factor and all that good, fun stuff so keep sticking around because more corny goodness is in store!  
> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who leaves kind reviews on this fic. It's not over yet!!


	15. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets drunk, the boys cuddle, Draco has a wet dream, and our favorite pure-blood returns to work.

Draco jumped a mile high when the front door slammed open and he heard heavy footsteps thundering up the staircase. He pointed his wand at the doorway and prepared to hex whoever came barreling in – but it was only Potter with a light dusting of snow covering his dark hair and robes. Potter was out of breath and his eyes were wild with excitement behind slightly-foggy glasses.

“Merlin! Potter, what the –”

“Get your coat! We’re going out drinking!”

“What?”

Potter quickly moved forward and grabbed both of Draco’s wrists, pulling him to his feet. “Come on! Seelba! Get your master’s coat!”

“What’s happening?” Draco asked, somewhat alarmed, as his house-elf dutifully appeared beside him holding a winter robe, a pair of snow boots, a pair of gloves, a black scarf, and a hat.

“I’m taking you out to celebrate! Neville had to get back to his classes but you and I are going out! Come on, come on! Hurry up!” Potter babbled as he took the scarf and wrapped it around Draco’s neck. Their close proximity made Draco blush as he realized that an out-of-breath Potter was a _very_ appealing Potter.

“Have you lost your mind? It’s not even one o’clock!”

“I’m sure you’ve day drank before.”

Not being able to deny that he well in fact _had_ , Draco followed in something of a blur as Potter took his hand and dragged him out of the room he had been burning Voldemort’s belongings in. They traveled down the hall, down the staircase, and paused momentarily before the front door so that Draco could finish properly fastening his robes and zipping up his boots. With a blinding grin, Potter pulled open the front door and dragged Draco outside. The snow had indeed started falling – the first of the winter season – and almost two inches had already accumulated. It was a beautiful sight but _fuck_ was it cold out. Draco pulled his hat farther down his head and tightened his robes against the chill.

“Potter, it’s fucking freezing out here!”

“We’ll be warm soon enough,” Potter replied slyly as he squeezed Draco’s hand and Disapparated them from the street.

**XXXX**

They appeared in an alley beside a pub Draco had never been to before. Like the one in Germany, this one was a tiny hole-in-the-wall type of establishment with very few people roaming the streets. When he glanced questioningly at Potter, he saw that the Chosen One had Glamoured upon their arrival. His dark hair was straightened and shoulder-length rather than short and messy and his nose was slightly crooked. His cheeks were dusted with freckles that contrasted the flakes of snow quite nicely.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter that I never actually agreed to come here and drink with you.”

“Come on,” Potter encouraged, ignoring Draco’s quip.

Before he could be pulled inside by an eager Chosen One, Draco spelled a quick Glamour that would at least change his hair and eye color before he found himself entering the building.

Potter was still holding his hand.

**XXXX**

The pub was almost an exact copy of the one in Germany minus the billiards tables. It was relatively packed with patrons who were eating lunch and drinking beer (despite it being terribly early in the day). They found an empty booth in a back corner and Draco glanced around nervously but none of the other patrons seemed to be paying them any mind – they were all engrossed in their own conversations or the football game that played on multiple television screens behind the bar. Occasionally the favored team of the patrons would score and the pub would erupt in cheers.

“Someone’ll be with you boys in a bit!” the bartender called out to him and Potter without taking his gaze away from one of the televisions.

Potter squeezed his hand before letting go to take off his winter robes. It was warm inside of the pub – there was a fireplace in a far corner and the heat of all the bodies saw to that – and Draco slipped off his gloves and winter robes but kept his scarf and hat on. His gaze kept flitting around the pub, waiting for someone to recognize them and approach them. Did this pub have a ban on reporters like the one in Germany?

“Neville and I had some drinks with Madam Rosmerta before he had to leave,” Potter announced, bringing Draco’s attention back to him. Potter’s eyes were dilated and he was smiling easily. “We promised to get together again soon with the others and celebrate properly. Maybe over the holiday season? It depends on when everyone else can get off from work.”

“What are we celebrating?”

At that moment, a cute waitress with tits busting out against the sheer fabric of her pub shirt and a short, plaid skirt appeared beside them with a notepad. Her eye shadow matched the shade of her shirt and her lips were heavily glossed.

“Hey, ‘fellas. What can I ‘getcha?”

“Two fingers of whiskey for both of us,” Potter requested happily. “And a thing of chips.”

Her eyes widened at the order but she laughed. Potter’s enthusiasm was infectious. “All right, then! Coming right up!” As she moved away from them, Draco turned an inquisitive gaze on Potter.

“Shots? At midday?”

Potter’s grin grew positively _lecherous_ as he leaned in across the table and into Draco’s personal space. He could smell Potter’s cologne and felt his stomach flip at the sweet way the Chosen One teased, “What’s wrong, Malfoy? Can’t take a bit of excitement before you’ve had your afternoon tea?”

Draco’s gaze briefly drifted down to Potter’s lips. “I simply don’t want to be responsible for dragging your unconscious body back to the townhouse.”

Potter rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. “I can hold my liquor just fine. And besides – I need someone to share this joy with and I want it to be you.”

He ignored the way his heart thudded at _that_. “Because the members of your Glam Squad all have jobs and are busy working?”

“You wound me, Malfoy.” The dopey grin betrayed Potter’s happiness as he continued, “Neville’s getting married.”

Draco blinked and asked, “Really?”

“Yeah – to Hannah Abbott. She runs the Leaky Cauldron now.”

“I wasn’t aware they were dating.”

Potter nodded. “For a few years now. He’s not sure when the wedding is going to be but apparently they’ve got a lot of the details already figured out like her dress and their cake and stuff. He’s going to ask Ron and Luna to be his ushers but I’m sure they’ll say yes.”

“He’s going to ask Lovegood to be an usher? That’s not…typical.”

“No, but it’s what he wants.” Their drinks arrived and Potter thanked the waitress before fingering his glass. He waited until she disappeared back into the throng of people before whispering, “He’s asked me to be his best man and I’ve said yes.”

It wasn’t terribly surprising news – Potter had gotten quite close to the pure-blood near the end of the war – but it hadn’t been what Draco had been expecting him to announce. He wasn’t sure _what_ Longbottom had wanted but he hadn’t expected it to relate to _marriage_ of all things.

“Abbott’s not a pure-blood from what I remember.”

“Nope, she’s a half-blood. Guess you’re not the only pure-blood turning your back on tradition.”

Draco blinked. The idea that him and _Longbottom_ of all fucking people had something in common was _absurd_! For a long, uncomfortable moment, he simply stared at Potter, trying desperately to wrap his head around that fact. This surely was not the first instance of Longbottom turning his back on the traditional way of pure-bloods who honored Dark Magic and sneered at lower-class but _this_ …this was different. This strangely resonated with Draco.

And he didn’t fucking know what to say.

“That’s…news. Good news. Is…is this what you’re so excited about?” He didn’t have too many friends who would be getting married, let alone invite him to the ceremony, so he couldn’t exactly empathize with Potter’s joy. But his awkward question didn’t seem to faze the Chosen One. Potter nodded as he moved the glass between his hands.

“That and one other thing…” Potter leaned across the table again to whisper, “His mom’s been taking your potion and she remembered him. She called him by his _name_.”

Now _that_ was surprising news! Draco felt his mouth go dry. “Are you sure?”

Potter nodded again, lifting his glass to Draco in a toast. “To your brilliance.”

It had been his aunt’s fault that Longbottom’s parents went insane and would never fully recover. Hatred for Voldemort and a desire to do the right thing had helped ensure their demise. To know that _he_ was responsible for assisting their states of being was something of a funny twist of fate. His aunt had destroyed them and here he was indirectly helping them. Judging by Potter’s demeanor, the fact that Mrs. Longbottom recognized her son meant a great deal to both Potter and Longbottom.

Draco felt an unfamiliar sense of pride at helping someone in need surge through him. “I…thank you for telling me. I’m glad I could help.” And he _was_ glad, he realized. He was _glad_ that he could help. Lifting his glass, he tapped it lightly against Potter’s and tilted his head back to down the liquid. It burned his throat and he couldn’t help but cough a bit after he had swallowed completely. He was no stranger to whiskey but this brand was flavored differently than the stuff he was used to. He was glad when Potter coughed around the shot as well and then _shocked_ when Potter ordered two more shots for them from a passing waitress. Soon their waitress came with their basket of chips and the two more shots Potter had requested.

“To happiness,” Potter toasted. His face was flushed.

“To happiness,” Draco echoed with dry amazement before downing the next shot.

**XXXX**

Seeing Neville and hearing the wonderful news had boosted his soul’s mood in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling for a long time. And now Malfoy was with him, dutifully downing shots and snacking on chips in a busy pub while Harry reveled in his cheer. The alcohol made his blood sing and he couldn’t help but reach his legs out and comfortably rest them on either side of Malfoy’s under the table. “Thank you for coming,” he said for what felt like the millionth time.

Malfoy shrugged as if it hadn’t been a bother to traipse out in public for the first time in over three weeks just to drink booze with Harry. But despite the poor lighting of the pub, he could tell that the pure-blood was blushing.

“Three weeks without alcohol is far too long for a pure-blood to go without it,” Malfoy replied, seemingly ignoring the gentle press of Harry’s legs against him. But that blush was telling and Harry grinned.

He didn’t remind the blond that he had a fully stocked liquor cabinet at home. He had _wanted_ to venture out of Grimmauld Place with Malfoy and the blond wasn’t putting up much of a front for objection. Indeed, Malfoy grabbed another couple of chips and snacked contently.

_It’s nice being out here with you. I wonder when I can find an excuse to hold your hand again._

The background noise of the pub was oddly comforting as Harry watched the snow gently descend upon the street outside. Without looking at Malfoy, he said, “If you decide to stay at Grimmauld Place, this could become a regular thing.” From his peripheral vision, he saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow.

“What could become a regular thing?”

“This – going out to pubs together. Granted, it probably won’t happen before five and I know your work schedule can be nuts, but…the offer is out there, if you’d like. I had a great time in Germany and I’m having a great time now…”

Malfoy chewed on a chip as he thought about it. “You’re offering to host me as…what? A flat mate?”

“If you like. Grimmauld is certainly big enough and the Manor’s still in shambles. You could stay until your home gets restored…or longer, if you want.”

Malfoy’s expression went mysteriously blank. It was disconcerting. “‘Or longer?’”

Harry shrugged, feeling embarrassment kicking in. He looked down at the rapidly-depleting pile of chips and distracted his gaze by moving them around. “If you want. I know it’s not a five star hotel but I’ve got more room than I need. And one of those empty rooms could be made into a lab for when you want to work on weekends in the comfort of pajamas. I know you can be a bit of a workaholic but you don’t have to dress up to complete your studies.”

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment. Slowly, he asked, “Your ‘formal invitation’ for me to stay last night was genuine, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Why would you want me around?”

_Because I like you. Because I’ve fallen for you. Because we could be good for each other._ Harry found himself gazing into those grey eyes.

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

Harry startled at the question and looked to see their waitress standing beside their table patiently. She was giving him a knowing smile as if she could read his desperate, longing mind.

“Um, no, that’s all,” he told her, fishing some money out of his pocket and handing it to her. “Thank you.”

“You boys stay warm,” she replied with a wink as she disappeared to help another table.

Blinking against the slight fuzziness in his brain, Harry stood up and pulled on his winter robe. His coordination was starting to slip but he was fairly confident he could still manage a successful Disapparation. Aware that he hadn’t answered Malfoy’s question, he asked instead, “Shall we?”

Malfoy simply looked at him blankly for a moment before nodding and pulling on his winter robe and gloves.

**XXXX**

Potter was tipsy.

Draco couldn’t possibly imagine how much alcohol the Chosen One had consumed with Longbottom but the four shots of whiskey certainly hadn’t helped Potter’s inebriated state. It was something of a miracle that Potter managed to Apparate them back in front of the townhouse. Draco made sure to get him inside quickly before any lingering reporters could snap a photograph of them. They made their way to the drawing room – Potter stumbling slightly on his journey – where the hero lit the fireplace and the house-elves pulled back the curtains. Four inches of snow had accumulated outside. Seelba took their winter attire and held out a blanket and a sack of belongings to Draco.

“Would Master like to finish disposing of the old, cursed items?”

“They’ll make excellent kindling,” Draco replied, taking the remaining books that had once belonged to Voldemort and tossing them onto the fire that Potter had created. The fire flared up and his eyes were glued to the sight. The dancing flames reminded him of his own, recent, near-death experience and he suddenly felt his feet glued to the floor.

“Malfoy?”

Blinking out of the haze, Draco turned and caught Potter’s eye. The Chosen One had curled up under a blanket on the couch and was looking up at him sleepily. The sight was terribly domestic and cute. “I’m fine,” he replied quickly, moving away from the fire to lift the blanket and tuck himself under it on the couch beside Potter.

Apparently the space between them was too insufferable for Potter because as soon as Draco got comfortable against the arm of the couch, Potter shifted over to him and pressed against his side. Eyes widening in surprise, Draco didn’t know what to say as Potter lifted the pure-blood’s arm and draped it around his shoulders.

“Potter?”

“Better,” the hero replied sleepily as he rested his head against Draco’s shoulder.

Heart beating furiously, Draco swore that this was the _last_ time he ever let Potter touch alcohol. He ripped his gaze away from the nest of dark hair that tickled his cheek and stared out the window, watching the snow fall and wondering if he should push Potter away.

“Oh, fuck it all.”

Draco’s gaze swiveled back to the top of Potter’s head. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to ask Neville about Zabini.”

“Blaise?”

“Yeah. Madam Rosmerta said that he and Neville often share a pint together at the Three Broomsticks,” Potter mumbled sleepily. “It was surprising gossip and I wanted to ask Neville about it but I forgot with everything else we talked about.”

“You said you’d be seeing him again soon.” _Why_ was he whispering?

“Yeah, that’s true. He said you’re welcome to come, too. He’ll probably want to thank you for your potion in person.” Potter shivered and Draco instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around them.

“I want to go back and visit Hogwarts.

“I’m not ready yet but…I want to go back soon. I want to see Hagrid and McGonagall. I want to see the moving portraits and Nearly Headless Nick and Moaning Myrtle and the grounds. I want to visit Hogsmeade when it’s covered in snow and third years are seeing it for the first time. I want to share a pint with Neville in public without being Glamoured. I’m not ready but I want to build up to it.”

“That sounds like a respectable goal,” Draco replied after a minute of processing Potter’s confession.

Potter played with the hem of the blanket. “We got to talking about stuff and I told him what you said about ‘Mione. Neville’s also worried for her safety.”

“I never said I was –”

“He agrees with where you’re coming from but he said that a Minister for Magic accepts the risk and perse – perse – _perseveres_ in spite of it. In _ter_ esting take, I thought.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What does Longbottom know other than which end of a Mandrake is the quiet part?” He tried not to flinch when Potter wrapped an arm around his waist.

Potter was _drunk_.

“Going back to work tomorrow?”

Draco nodded without looking at him. “It will be good for me. I miss my coworkers.”

“Miss my friends too if I was away that long.” Potter’s glasses were crooked and Draco reached to take them off of the hero’s face and rest them on the table beside the couch. “Thought shots would keep my energy up but I’m feel sleepy now.”

The poor sentence structure made Draco grin. “Social interaction and a lot of alcohol will do that to you.”

“Social inler – inner – inmeraction sucks.”

Draco’s grin grew into a full-fledged smile as he replied, “Unlike you, I didn’t have too much to drink.”

“Should change that.” Potter’s hair fell in front of his eyes and Draco reached out to gently brush it away.

“You should rest. I bet you haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Potter was so far gone that he probably wasn’t even aware of the way he tightened his grip on Draco. It was a miracle they had made it back to Grimmauld Place in one piece.

“‘M glad they pulled you out of fire in time.”

Draco’s fingertips paused against Potter’s temple. Slowly, he traced down to cup Potter’s cheek briefly. “Me too.”

Within seconds Potter was asleep.

Draco’s heart pounded in his chest as Potter tightened his hold in his sleep. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to leave Potter alone on the couch. His fingers coasted lightly through Potter’s un-Glamoured hair. It was still a bit chilly from the outside cold but it was terribly soft. Every now and then his fingers would get caught on a tangle and he’d have to back-track them. His gaze shifted from watching Potter sleep peacefully against him to looking out at the snow.

He thought he could grow used to this.

**XXXX**

Unbeknownst to either of the boys, two sets of eyes watched hidden behind the shield of house-elf magic.

“Seelba would rather see Master in such a compromising position with a fellow pure-blood but Seelba is, admittedly, quite fond of Sir Potter.”

Kreacher frowned and spat, “Master Potter should not have allowed himself to become so inebriated. Master Potter lets his guard down too easily.”

“Do you dare suggest that Master Malfoy would –”

“Your master is not the same as other pure-bloods Kreacher has met,” the house-elf whispered back rather heatedly. “No…Sir Malfoy is respectable. Gentle. Unlike other masters.”

“Sir Potter seems gentle as well,” Seelba whispered back. They were watching the couch from the doorway of the drawing room. “Sir Potter has not once yelled at any of us or ordered us to do something cruel.”

“Master Potter is generous to house-elves. Kreacher used to think it was a weakness but Kreacher has grown to like Master Potter. Master Potter gives Kreacher home-made brownies for his birthday. Kreacher had never received brownies for his birthday until after the war ended and Master Potter...” the house-elf trailed off, apparently remembering a personal memory to him. He looked down at his feet, struggling to find the words to explain. “Master Potter is not like the great pure-blood masters Kreacher used to have. But that does not mean Master Potter is not great.”

Seelba watched as his master’s hand paused in its movement through Sir Potter’s hair to rest gently against the boy’s skull.

“Malfoy,” Potter sighed out in his sleep.

Seelba watched his master’s eyes twinkle in the light of the fire as he gazed down at Sir Potter with a smile. Slowly, Master Malfoy’s eyes began to close as the pure-blood drifted off to sleep.

“What do you think this means?” Kreacher asked.

“Master Malfoy is in love,” Seelba whispered back.

“Pah!” Kreacher exclaimed.

Quickly, Seelba covered the house-elf’s mouth with his hand and frantically glanced back at Master Malfoy but the blond was sleeping soundly. Giving a small sigh of relief, Seelba lowered his hand and glared at his fellow house-elf. “Not so loudly!”

Kreacher frowned as he looked back at the couch. “Love is a disgusting waste,” he muttered harshly. “Master Potter would be wise not to fall for its trap.”

Seelba wasn’t so sure. “Look at them, Kreacher. They are good together.”

“Pah!”

It was then that Seelba had an idea. An awful idea. Seelba had a terrible, no-good, _awful_ idea. “We must help them. Seelba and Kreacher shall help them confess!”

Kreacher’s eyes widened. “Kreacher didn’t agree to help with anything!”

“Oh, but you will. Come – I will tell you my plan downstairs.”

Kreacher gave him a wary look but followed anyway – he always prided himself on being something of a troublemaker.

**XXXX**

**“HARRY JAMES POTTER!”**

The sound of a Howler startled them both and Harry tumbled out of Malfoy’s arms and onto the floor. His head was throbbing and he landed somewhat sloppily on his arm. Flinching at the pain, he cursed lightly as he struggled to sit up. Malfoy looked no better – his hair was mussed and as he sat up, the blanket slipped from his chest and bunched up over a mysterious bulge in his pants. Harry had half a moment to stare at the sight before the floating letter recaptured his attention.

**“HOW DARE YOU VISIT HOGSMEADE WITHOUT NOTIFYING ME! I WOULD HAVE COME TO MEET YOU. AND WHAT’S WORSE – YOU GOT MY STAFF MEMBER DRUNK BEFORE HIS AFTERNOON CLASSES! THANK GODRIC ZABINI HAS AN ENDLESS SUPPLY OF SOBERING POTIONS OR LONGBOTTOM WOULD HAVE BEEN DANCING THE MARIGOLD IN THE GARDENS! NEXT TIME YOU FEEL LIKE LIQUORING UP MY STAFF, I BETTER BE INVITED!**

**-LOVE, HEADMISTRESS MINERVA MCGONAGALL.”**

“She’s insane,” Malfoy muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes as the Howler ripped itself up.

The sound of the pure-blood’s voice caused Harry to remember the earlier sight but when he looked back, the bulge was gone. Cursing the Howler, he cast a simple healing charm on his arm and leaned heavily against the couch. “I’m more surprised that she went to Zabini of all people for a sobering potion. Fuck, what a wake-up call. What time is it?”

Malfoy summoned the time and frowned. “Almost four.” He settled back down on the couch with his head behind Harry’s. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh. My head’s pounding. I could go for one of those sobering potions.”

Malfoy conjured one up and deftly handed it to Harry.

Blinking, Harry took it and downed it in one go. Soon his head cleared and he said, “Fuck, you really are brilliant with shite like this. I didn’t think I drank _that_ much with Neville.”

Malfoy blushed at the praise and asked, “Not the young drinker you used to be?”

“I was never a young drinker.”

“No, I don’t imagine you were.”

Harry looked back at him and saw that tell-tale smirk. It made him smile.

“I don’t want to move,” Malfoy admitted, pulling the blanket back up and over him. “But I shouldn’t sleep any longer or I won’t sleep well tonight.”

“What makes you think you were going to sleep well in the first place?”

“…Touché.”

An awkward moment passed between them before Harry asked, “So, you…you got to nap, too?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t remember falling asleep on me?”

Harry blushed. “I – I remember, I just –”

Malfoy saved him the embarrassment of floundering for words by shifting back against the couch to make a space for him. “You were warm and it’s cold as hell in this room so get back here.”

Harry’s blush spread down his neck. “Really? Are you serious?”

Malfoy tried to shrug nonchalantly like back at the pub. “You’ve seen me unconscious for weeks and crying hysterically. I’m pretty sure any dignity I had with you is gone.”

He figured that was something of an attempt to find equal footing and moved onto the couch with a nervous smile as Malfoy lifted the blanket to allow him under. He couldn’t believe his luck as Malfoy adjusted them so that his arm was wrapped around Harry, hand pressed against his chest and over his heart, keeping him from falling off of the couch. Malfoy’s dick had indeed gone soft but the strong pair of hips felt wonderful pressed against Harry’s backside.

“Not a word about this to anyone,” Malfoy warned him, pressing his face against the back of Harry’s hair and drifting off to sleep.

“Nobody’d believe me anyway,” Harry whispered back.

**XXXX**

“Malfoy, wake up.”

“Nngh.” There was something warm and strong holding him and Draco nuzzled further against it. A gentle puff of air tickled his hair as the warm and strong thing chuckled lowly.

“You’ll never get any sleep tonight if you don’t wake up now.”

“I’ll hex you,” Draco mumbled childishly. He wished the warm and strong thing would just be quiet and let him rest longer. It felt so nice. How long had it been since a warm and strong thing had held him like this?

“You wish you could.”

Making a noise of clear discontent, Draco cracked his eyes open to find Potter pressed against him.

“Hey,” the hero whispered warmly. He looked much better and well-rested. “You know…for an ex-Death Eater, you’re really adorable when you’re asleep.”

“Now I’m definitely hexing you,” Draco muttered as he stretched his body out. The motion caused Potter to shift over him a bit to allow Draco to sprawl out. Potter’s forearms pressed against either side of Draco’s head and his dark hair fanned the pure-blood’s face. It reminded Draco of when Potter had held him down during the attack to get him to settle. Blinking his eyes further open at the memory, Draco looked up and into the sea of green above him. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Potter replied quietly. He had a knee in-between Draco’s thighs but it was too far down to physically excite him.

Draco thanked his lucky stars for that.

Gently, he pushed Potter back so that they could both sit up on the couch. Draco ran a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty,” Potter replied. “Want me to make us dinner?”

“Isn’t that what house-elves are for?”

Rolling his eyes, Potter stood up and gestured for Draco to follow him. “Come on. I’m so dehydrated I think I’ll die.”

Despite knowing that they could just _summon_ water, Draco stood somewhat wobbily and followed the Chosen One down the stairs and into the kitchen. He wasn’t about to run from Potter after they had _cuddled_. Draco didn’t feel guilty. Embarrassed, sure, but not guilty. He had _asked_ Potter to nap with him. He considered himself a free man. If he wanted to take a nap with Potter then he’d take a nap with Potter.

He didn’t linger on how cheesy it sounded or wonder how Potter felt about the matter.

**XXXX**

They didn’t talk much as they worked side-by-side to prepare dinner. Eggplant parmesan was on the menu and, luckily for Harry, it wasn’t terribly difficult to make from scratch since Kreacher had bought all of the ingredients. He and Malfoy silently agreed not to drink any alcohol with the meal and instead took water upstairs to the drawing room.

“If I’m going to be staying here for a while, then you had better teach me how to cook,” Malfoy announced as he eagerly dug in.

“Sure. You’ll have to teach me something in return, though.”

Malfoy gave him a considering look. “You were raised by Muggles…have you ever gone ice skating?”

“Once and I was terrible at it. My cousin kept purposefully shoving me into walls with his friends.”

“Good thing you have me to help you, then.”

Harry wondered to himself if it would be considered a date.

**XXXX**

They spent a few hours binging reality shows on a conjured television set until Draco announced that it was time for him to sleep for real.

“I want to get there a little early in case there’s any paperwork that needs to be completed or hungry reporters to entertain.”

Potter gave him a careful look. “If tomorrow comes and you don’t feel ready for it, you don’t have to go.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Potter nodded and didn’t push the issue. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

As he entered his bedroom, Draco closed the door behind him and leaned against it heavily. He didn’t want to sleep alone. He wanted to call down to Potter and invite the Chosen One up to hold him all through the night. But while taking a nap on the couch with Potter was one thing, inviting him to his bed was an entirely different matter. Sighing, Draco changed his pants but kept his shirt on – it smelled faintly of Potter’s cologne from being pressed to him for so long – and crawled into bed. For a long time he stared at his bedroom door, wishing Potter would knock.

He wondered how returning to work would play out.

**XXXX**

_An insistent pressure against his leg. Moaning, Draco grabbed the set of hips and better aligned their bodies together so that his cock grinded against the sweet body straddling him. A gasp from above – teeth bit down against his neck and Draco tilted his head back to allow more access. A clever tongue swiped against his skin before the teeth bit harder, leaving marks trailing down his neck._

_“Potter,” he moaned, unable to keep his whine silent. Lips were demanding against his as a tongue pushed into his mouth. His body trembled from the heat of the kiss. He wanted more._

_“Potter,” he whispered against the parted lips. Curious hands pressed against his naked chest and traveled down, pausing to rub his nipples and harden them, before moving to the waistband of his pants. “Please.”_

_“Please what?”_

_Draco shivered. “Fuck me.”_

_Potter moaned at the needy tone of his voice. Carefully, Potter slid off of his lap and to the floor, pushing Draco’s knees apart to settle between them. Green eyes innocently looked up at him and Draco fought a whine._

_Potter looked so_ good.

_The hero tucked his hands into the waistband of Draco’s pants and slowly pulled them down. Draco lifted his hips and helped rid himself of the offending article of clothing. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His cock lifted into the air for Potter to admire. The hero’s gaze narrowed as he leaned forward. Draco shuddered and fisted his hands in the blanket underneath him as Potter gave the tip of his cock kitten licks. Green eyes never left his and Draco felt the plea escape. “Please, Potter.”_

_The tongue licked at the underside of Draco’s tip for a few moments before sliding down to wet the base of his cock. Potter pressed a few kisses to the skin where thigh met groin before pulling back to lather the tip once more._

_“Stop teasing.”_

_Potter’s eyes sparked with challenge as he licked up and down Draco’s shaft._

_The pure-blood’s grip on the blanket tightened. “Potter.”_

_The hero’s gaze softened and he slowly took Draco into his mouth. Draco cursed at the contact and instantly lifted a hand to entwine his fingers in Potter’s messy hair. Potter moaned around his cock as he slowly moved down, taking more of Draco. Dream Potter didn’t seem to have a gag reflex as the hero kept swallowing more and more of Draco’s cock until his nose brushed Draco’s hair._

_“Potter…please, Potter.”_

_Potter started pulling back only to go down once more. Slowly, he set a steady rhythm of taking Draco nice and deep before sucking hard on the pull back. Both of Draco’s hands found Potter’s head and he marveled at the way the strands of hair looked against his marble skin._

_“Fuck – so good for me, Potter. You’re taking it so well.”_

_Potter sucked him especially deep before moving back to pleasure the head of his cock while his hand wrapped around Draco. He started jerking Draco off and the blond shivered. Draco’s hips stuttered against the motion but Potter’s free hand gripped his hip hard enough to leave a bruise. He could feel himself getting close._

_“Potter, I – I can’t – I –”_

_Potter didn’t pull off. Instead he sucked harder and moved the hand that was gripping Draco’s hip down to lightly press against the blond’s balls, pulling and rolling the skin._

_Draco was panting._

_“Please, Potter, I’m – I’m close – Harry –”_

_Potter tugged lightly at one of his balls while deepthroating him and –_

Draco’s eyes flew open as he came shakily in his pants like a teenager. Shame, guilt, and embarrassment filled him as he felt the rivulets stain his pajamas. When his orgasm finished, he breathed heavily for a few moments, staring blankly into the darkness of his room. A rickety summons showed that it was nearly seven in the morning. Dropping his head back against the pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the image of green eyes again. It had been over three weeks since he had last gotten himself off and it showed by the mess in his pants. Groaning at his own body’s desire for Potter, Draco spelled the mess away before turning onto his side and wishing that such thoughts of Potter would leave him.

**XXXX**

He managed to avoid Potter while getting ready for work. He took a quick breakfast from the house-elves, dressed in his sharpest robes with a silver button-up shirt underneath that made his eyes glow, styled his hair, and held his head high as he crossed the street, entered the phone booth, and appeared inside the Ministry. Reporters snapped his picture as he crossed the threshold and found Granger waiting for him a few feet inside. Admittedly, she looked rather put together in her Auror robes with a blue blazer and blue pencil skirt underneath. Her hair was – remarkably – combed and held neatly in a ponytail.

It was a tad unnerving seeing her so neat and tidy after knowing her as nothing but a wreck for so long.

“Draco Malfoy,” she greeted with a pleasant enough smile. “Welcome back to the Ministry.” She held out her hand to him and he could barely see the scarred words poking out from beneath her sleeve. Not paying them much mind, he shook her hand in return. The contact felt strange but he didn’t flinch from it. “I trust you are well?” she asked.

_No thanks to you._ He gave her his most business-savvy smile and replied lightly, “I’m eager to resume my post.”

She nodded once, keeping that steady smile plastered on, as her eyes pierced him. “The Ministry’s grateful for your service.”

_I’ll bet._ He bowed his head a bit to her before making his way to the lift, ending the conversation and wanting to escape the reporters. He was aware of them clicking away with their cameras as he entered the lift. As the doors closed, he realized he wasn’t alone in the lift.

“Well that was painful to watch,” the Minister quipped with a smirk.

Draco felt himself smile in return as the lift began moving. “You didn’t feel like being in tomorrow’s paper?”

“I’ve had far too much publicity for my own liking lately,” Shacklebolt replied as he stepped away from the wall to stand comfortably beside Draco. The man turned and held his hand out. “I’m sorry about this mess…and for keeping your family members separated for so long. From this moment forward, the Malfoys are free to go and come as they please to any location.”

Draco shook his hand. “Thank you for keeping us safe.”

“It’s the least I could do. I let this happen and, so, it’s my fault.” He sighed and Draco thought the Minister looked much older than he used to. “I should never have put Granger and Weasley on this. I should have handled Matthias myself.”

“The Minister for Magic can’t be seen dealing with common criminals. That’s what the Auror Department is for.”

Shacklebolt side-eyed him. “Are you ready to come back? You don’t have to push yourself, Draco.”

“You sound like Potter.” A moment passed as the lift traveled in silence. “Thank you for letting me return. I’m sure not everyone was on board and you’ve probably gotten a lot of flack for this decision. But I _am_ grateful, despite everything that’s happened.”

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw the Minister smile.

“You’re all right, Draco. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone else says.”

Draco smiled in return. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sir.”

They both had things to sort out but it was a start. And Draco _was_ happy to be back.

**XXXX**

As soon as Draco stepped out onto Level Three, he was pulled into three pairs of arms simultaneously.

“Oh, you’re all right!” Quina shouted with joy. Her face buried into the side of his neck and he flushed at the contact. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“Gave us a right good scare, mate,” Hank said from where he had his arms wrapped around Draco’s right side and his cheek pressed against the top of Draco’s head. “They all said you’d be fine but boy did we worry.”

“Looked like a charred corpse when we pulled you out,” David informed him. He had his arms wrapped around Hank, Draco, and Quina as much as they could reach around and he squeezed them all tightly. His breath smelled like cigarettes but Draco was so happy to see him that he didn’t verbally complain like usual. “Happy to see you’re back, mate.”

Draco blinked before returning the embraces as much as he could from the awkward angle. He had never had a group of people – a group of _friends_ – be so happy to see him after a near-death experience. He felt full of gratitude and happiness as he replied to all of them, “I’m happy to be back. Thank you for saving me.”

“Anything for you,” Hank replied, pulling back to meet Draco’s eyes. His coworker was crying. “You’re family, Draco. You belong here.”

“Us useless gays ‘gotta stick together,” Quina laughed as she rubbed her wet face against Draco’s robes.

David nodded in agreement. “I’d do it all over again if it meant getting to see you again. We’re glad you came back to us. We’ve missed you.”

Draco felt his composure slip away as he pulled them all back in for another group hug. “I’ve missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conspiring house-elves are my favorites.


	16. Coming to Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets his Christmas shopping done while Draco has a mini breakdown at work before seeing his mother. Then Harry masturbates to thoughts of Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay - I've been sick with the flu and an upper respiratory infection which meant that I couldn't even go to work, let alone work on anything that required my focus. I hope you enjoy this chapter! The next chapter is completely done and will be uploaded tomorrow or the day after.

He hadn’t expected to be guided down the hallway by his coworkers. Hadn’t expected them to stay by him as he entered his new office - with sturdy walls no longer made of glass and a wider space to comfortably accommodate two desks instead of one. Hadn’t expected to watch Hank take the desk in the corner and gesture for him to sit at his new one while David and Quina watched from the doorway. Didn’t expect to feel so at home sitting behind the new desk and reaching for the pile of books that eagerly awaited him to comb through. Didn’t expect to look up and see his three coworkers smiling at him.

“Happy to have you back, mate,” David said before he and Quina disappeared to get back to their own work.

Draco stared at the empty doorway for a long moment and realized he hadn’t expected the wave of gratitude that he was _alive_ to wash over him and nearly paralyze him in front of Hank.

“We’ve got your back,” was all Hank said before the rocker flipped open the book on his desk and started reading.

**XXXX**

“Christmas is a week away.”

Harry looked up from where he was watering a succulent. “Yes…?”

“Will you be spending it at the Burrow?”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.” He had spent last Christmas at the Burrow but now he wasn’t so sure what his plan was. Malfoy didn’t have a home to go back to and Harry doubted very much that the blond would want to spend the entire thing in the hospital with his parents. He knew he needed to ask Malfoy what the blond’s plans were but he had been putting it off during their shared time together after Malfoy finished work.

“When are you going to do your holiday shopping?”

“You just want to know when you’ll be getting your precious brownies.”

The house-elf shifted uncomfortably. “Kreacher does love them. And Kreacher _has_ been not terrible this year.”

Harry shook his head and his fringe fell in front of his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Kreacher didn’t move away. A minute passed and he was still standing there, waiting for Harry to answer his question. The house-elf even had the gall to cross his arms and tap his foot.

Sighing, Harry rolled his eyes. He kept the brownie mix he used a secret from the house-elf so that Kreacher wouldn’t make them in his free time and spoil himself. Therefore, only Harry could go to the store and fetch the mix along with the other secret ingredients. “Look, I’ll do the shopping, okay?”

“Christmas is a week away,” Kreacher reminded him petulantly. He really did love those brownies.

**XXXX**

Finding gifts for members of his motley crew was easy enough since Molly had slipped him a list under the table one night at dinner of what to get everyone. The list consisted of a new broom for Ginny, slippers for Arthur, new winter cloaks for Charlie and Ron, baby gifts for Bill and Fleur, a cute hat for Molly, some quills for Percy, and a Lightsaber for George to display in the shop as part of a Muggle collection. He already knew that he wanted to get Hermione and Luna new journals that matched their Hogwarts House colors and a fancy flask for Neville. Diagon Alley would have all of these things, plus other knickknacks for the other people in his life.

He stopped in at the Leaky to congratulate Hannah in person on the engagement and the upcoming wedding. At first she didn’t recognize him through the Glamour but soon she caught on and warmed up to him immediately. She looked well – happy and excited to be married. _It’s nice to see her again,_ Harry thought after they spent some time catching up. Picking up his bags, he left the Leaky and fetched some chocolate truffles and a bottle of mead for McGonagall before making his way to the bookstore. Immediately upon entering, his eyes fell on _A History of Hippogriffs: Feathery Beasts._ Intrigued by the decorative cover, he retrieved the book and found endless diagrams of hippogriff anatomy and fun facts that he had never learned before in the book’s contents. He paid the shopkeeper for the book and tucked it into one of his bags.

He would have it mailed that night along with McGonagall’s truffles and mead.

As he went about fetching the other items on his wish list, his mind twisted and turned over what to get Malfoy. It wasn’t like they were _dating_ \- a couple cuddles on the couch and a few drinks shared between them at a pub didn’t warrant an official label. Neither of them had made a romantic move yet. But Malfoy _was_ living with him now and he knew he should get him _something_.

He _wanted_ to get him something. Malfoy had become an important part of his life.

“Seelba?”

The house-elf dutifully appeared beside him. “Yes, Sir?”

“What does your master usually get for Christmas?”

“Oh, many gifts – many gifts indeed! But lately Master has been receiving less from other pure-blood families.”

“What did he get last year?”

“Robes, jewelry, books – all from his parents, of course. Oh and Miss Lovegood sent him a bottle of chocolate wine. Sir Zabini sent him a collection of rare shot glasses imported from Spain.”

Harry felt his stomach plunge. “Of course.” His gaze scanned the closest windows but nothing jumped out at him. “What should _I_ get him?”

Seelba peered around at the display cases as well. “Something personal to you, Sir. Something that will remind Master of you.”

Harry frowned. “But what if some things are _too_ personal?”

“Well...what do you want your gift to tell Master?”

“That I –” he cut off. What message _did_ he want to send to Malfoy? What message would Malfoy be receptive of?

He realized he wasn’t sure of the answer.

“If Seelba may be so bold,” the house-elf whispered conspiringly, “Sir Potter should get Master something that reminds Master of how much Sir Potter cares about him. Sir Potter shouldn’t worry about it coming across as too personal. Nothing is too personal if it is between two people who care very much about each other.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. He was used to house-elves being observant of him but he hadn’t expected _Seelba_ to pick up on his feelings for Malfoy. It felt odd having a house-elf point out his feelings so blatantly. It had been a while since…

Clearing his throat, Harry crossed his arms and looked away from the house-elf. “You think that’ll work?”

The house-elf nodded quickly. “Sir Potter can iron Seelba’s feet if Master does not like whatever gift Sir Potter chooses from the heart.”

Harry gave the house-elf his bags and watched the creature disappear before making his way out of the alley and back down the street with a new sense of purpose.

_Something that’ll tell Malfoy how I feel about him._

He wondered what that could be.

**XXXX**

It was almost time for lunch when a realization snapped in Draco and he hastily stood up from his desk.

_‘Us useless gays ‘gotta stick together.’_

“You good?” Hank asked in concern but Draco barely heard him. He tore off down the hall to Quina’s office, not bothering to knock when he arrived. Throwing open the door, he stared at her in shock. “How’d you know?”

Her eyes were wide in surprise at his sudden appearance. “How’d I know what?”

“Before – what you said –” He couldn’t get the words out. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Why had it taken this long for him to make the connection? His thoughts were running too fast to process into sound. “You – before – how – how’d you know?”

“Draco, I love you, but if you can’t articulate better –”

“What you said before – about sticking together…how’d you know?”

Slowly, it dawned on her. “Oh, you mean about you being gay?”

He shushed her, casting a quick glance up and down the hallway but nobody was around. Quickly he stepped into her office and closed the door behind him. “ _Yes_ , about _that_. I never told you I was gay!”

“You never explicitly told me you were straight, either.” She leaned back in her chair and considered him. “But I’m sorry for assuming. We don’t often have people wind up working for this department who turn out to be straight. It’s like a secret joke in the Ministry that Level Three attracts queers of all types.”

He leaned heavily against the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Quina…”

“What? It’s okay if you’re still figuring it all out. I didn’t mean to –”

“No, just – just stop talking for a sec.”

She blinked at him and didn’t say anything.

His mind was spinning and his breathing had picked up. _How many people had guessed? How many people_ knew _? Of course_ I _managed to end up in the department that’s known for having the most queers. Just my luck! Had Shacklebolt known the joke? Was my being assigned to this department just another addition to a joke that already –_

Quina slowly stood up from her desk and crossed around it to stand in front of Draco. She lifted her hands and gently placed them on Draco’s shoulders, rubbing up and down his arms soothingly. “Hey, hey – I don’t know where your mind’s gotten off too but it’s really not a big deal. Nobody’s said anything. It was just supposed to be a stupid one-liner. I didn’t think it would mean anything. I’m sorry.” Her eyes were wide with worry. “Draco, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes to hide the prevalent fear. He was afraid. He didn’t want to become the punch line to some joke within the Ministry. He _needed_ this job. He didn’t want –

“Draco?”

“I –” he took a breath. “It’s not…” he sighed. Quietly, he whispered, “I’ve only ever told Lovegood and Potter that I’m into blokes. Tradition meant everything to me and I couldn’t…”

Quina understood without him having to finish. “Oh, Draco, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to out you. Fuck, I really fucked up.” Her arms fell to her sides and she took a step back. “Fuck. I’m really sorry I said anything in front of David and Hank.”

“They…they won’t care, will they?”

“That you like blokes? Of course not! They’re both bi themselves.”

Draco wrapped his arms around himself. “Others would care. My mother would care. I…” he shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. A moment passed between them. Sighing, Draco whispered, “I told her that I wanted to break away from tradition but I didn’t tell her the whole reason why. I…I couldn’t.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Coming out to your parents is the worst. It got me stripped from the family rights.” She kicked the office wall beside them. “Which is _exactly_ why I should have been more thoughtful with my words. Fuck it all.”

“How did…how did you find the courage to tell them that you didn’t want to marry someone of the opposite gender? I just said I didn’t want to be like my father.”

She puffed out a breath and leaned against the wall, mirroring his stance. “It certainly wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. They always wanted more out of me than I felt like giving. One day I just kind of exploded and unloaded the truth on them. They threw me out.”

Draco was quiet. He had stopped shaking but he couldn’t look up from the floor.

Quina angled her body and considered him. “Do you _have_ to tell them? I mean…it’s not like either of your parents have had an easy time lately. Do you think your dad would even comprehend what you’re saying?”

“Probably not. But Mother would.” He sighed. “She’s been through so much…I don’t want to add to her burden. I already fucked things up the last time I saw her.”

“Well…the holidays are coming up. I have a suggestion if you want to hear it.”

He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers.

“Why don’t you try to patch things up?”

“How? I told her –”

“You don’t have to rescind what you said. Just…spend the day with her. Take her out somewhere nice. Show her that you’re still here for her even though you’re figuring your own stuff out.” When he didn’t say anything in response, Quina continued, “I know I fucked up but I mean it when I say that you can fix this with your mom. Do what I couldn’t do – go and talk to her.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “The Ministry doesn’t think _we’re_ a joke…right?”

“Of course not! This building would fall apart without us.” She fidgeted in front of him. “I really am sorry, though.”

He nodded but couldn’t say anything.

**XXXX**

Scales etched out of silver metal glistened beautifully in the light flooding in through the storefront window. Upon further inspection, he found a tag attached to the box holding the ring that read, “Engravable option available. Charmed to fit any finger size.”

“Aye, that’s a beauty,” the shopkeeper told Harry after moseying up to inspect what the boy was holding. “Designed to model the scales of a komodo dragon. People often can’t tell the difference between a komodo’s scales and a real dragon’s scales. We’ve had to start telling customers the distinction to avoid lawsuits.”

“They’re rounder than a dragon’s,” Harry muttered, mostly to himself as he fingered the piece of jewelry without looking up. “Do you carry a lot of jewelry like this?”

“Not much in the line of komodo dragon-inspired things. This piece is actually a few seasons old. We’ve been putting it out for a while now hoping that someone would like it. But most customers prefer _real_ dragon items, such as dragonhide clothing or a tooth to take home with them. We’ve lowered the price of this ring quite a bit because it wasn’t selling.”

Harry didn’t think the ‘lowered price’ was all that lowered but he wasn’t about to question the shopkeeper any longer. Turning away from the shelf and holding the ring box in his hands, he knew what he wanted to do.

**XXXX**

Draco knew that he was more upset with himself for not being able to find the courage to be honest with his mother about his sexuality than he was at Quina for spilling the beans to his other closest colleagues through a careless comment. His gaze kept flitting up to look at Hank, secretly wondering what the man thought about him now that Quina had said something. Hank glanced up and caught his gaze, blinking when he realized Draco was staring at him.

“Something up?”

“Why did you move into this office with me?”

Hank shrugged, turning his gaze back to his book nonchalantly. “I was lonely in my office and I figured that you might want some company.”

“I never said I wanted company.”

“Then call me an imposer.”

“You’re not imposing.”

“Then my presence helps.”

Draco hid his smile behind his book. A few minutes passed before he asked, “Hank…?”

“Yup?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Other than what you’re asking right now?”

“Yeah.”

“All right.”

“Quina said…well…she said that you and David are bisexual.”

“Yup.”

Draco blinked. “You’re not upset that I asked?”

“Why would I be upset? Sexuality’s something I came to terms with when I was only a second year at school. I don’t hide it or feel any shame. You know I’m a total slut around this building – did you honestly think I only saved myself for women?”

“I don’t know. I just…but…you’re not a pure-blood. I don’t know. Somehow I thought it wouldn’t be as hard to come to terms with something like sexuality when you at least have the chance to date someone of the same gender.”

“You do too, you dumb git. Look at Quina – sure, she gave up a fucking huge inheritance by turning her back on that pure-blood crap but she’s happy dating chicks. And soon she might even find the love of her life which is _way_ better than some fancy spoons or golden curtains.”

“That’s not all that’s involved in a pure-blood inheritance.”

“What else matters other than pride?”

Draco opened his mouth but realized that he didn’t have an answer to Hank’s question. He had always been proud to be a pure-blood – had been _raised_ to believe that being a pure-blood rose him above others in status and ability. But Potter wasn’t a pure-blood and he had taken down Voldemort. Granger wasn’t a pure-blood but she had persisted through torture at the Manor. Someone didn’t have to be a pure-blood to be strong. And that was something that Draco had come to discover over time.

Hank saw the realization dawn on Draco’s face and decided to change to an easier topic. “Do any holiday shopping yet?”

“What?”

“Christmas. It’s in a few days. Do any shopping for it yet?”

 Draco blinked. He hadn’t been expecting the question. “Um, no. I’ve been a bit busy trying to find my bearings, I guess.” It was a flimsy excuse and he knew it. But with everything going on with the assassination attempt and his spat with his mother and his father’s health and now his return to work, he had put shopping on the backburner. But Christmas _was_ fast approaching and soon he would be out of time. “I’ll go after work.”

“After work? All of the shops will be closed by eight. Don’t pure-bloods send, like, servants or house-elves to do the shopping?”

“Typically, yes, but I like doing it myself. It makes it more personal.” And it did. Growing up, he had counted on the help to fetch everything for him but in recent years, he had found that shopping for the people who remained close to him was something of a small blessing in of itself. “I’ll find the time.”

Hank gave him a skeptical look but didn’t say anything.

**XXXX**

“Good work today, mate. We really needed you back.”

Draco smiled at Hank’s words and nodded in acknowledgement. It was a little past nine o’clock – time for him to head back to Grimmauld Place. With the long hours of work, his mind had cleared a bit and given him time to relax and think things through. Quina was right – he needed to try and clear things up with his mother in a kinder way.

He donned his winter clothing and made his way out of the Ministry. With no reporters in sight to ask him how his first day back had gone, he exited the red telephone box and started to turn when he caught sight of a figure across the street from the phone booth. Pulling his robe tighter against the winter’s chill, he crossed the street instead of disappearing down a side alley to Disapparate.

“We need to talk,” his mother told him. Her hair rested neatly in a bun and her eyeliner shined in the glow of a nearby streetlight. “I’m worried about you, Draco.”

“Mother, what are you doing here? How long have you been out here?”

“Not long. I wanted to catch you before you could disappear.” She shivered against the cold. “We need to talk.”

Nodding in agreement, he gestured for her to lead the way. They walked down the street in silence and came across a café that was open until midnight. Ducking into the heated space, they sat down at a table.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” Draco began at once. “I needed space to figure out how to justify myself and my actions. I didn’t mean to snap at you back at the hospital. It just got to be too much and –”

His mother held up a hand to stop him. “I know, Draco. I’m just glad you are all right. That’s what matters most to me.”

He bit the inside of his lip. He looked into her face and wondered if they were drifting apart. “Mother, I -”

She shook her head. “I pushed you and I was wrong.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. Draco blinked, wondering if he was getting set up for a trap. “I’m sorry?”

She sighed at his words as if she was frustrated with herself. “The truth of the matter is that if I wanted my son to have a normal life as a wealthy pure-blood, I should never have allowed you to get roped into the Dark Lord’s madness when you were but a child.” She paused as a waiter came over and took their order. When he disappeared to make them tea, she looked back at her son. “I believed your father’s promise that the Dark Lord would bring us prosperity. A wife’s duty is to follow and support her husband no matter what – that is what I was brought up to learn. But you wouldn’t think of that…would you?”

He wasn’t sure where she was going with this. He took her hands in his over the table. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Mother.”

“ _You_ don’t want a wife to follow you blindly. In fact, I suspect you don’t want a wife at all.” Her gaze pierced his and he felt rooted to the spot. “ _That’s_ what you were trying to tell me at the hospital and what you were too afraid to tell me in the dining room that one morning. I pushed you to follow a path of tradition because I thought that was what’s best for you. It was what your father and I wanted for you. But I think you know more about what’s best for you and your happiness than I do.” She squeezed his hands. “I don’t want to push you away, Draco. You’re my world. And with your father’s condition being what it is…” She took a shaky breath and said, “I’m ready to listen now if there’s anything you want to tell me.”

He couldn’t believe his luck. Surely this was a trick somehow. Only hours ago he had realized that he needed to rekindle his relationship with his mother and now, here she was, ready to listen to him and…and what? Hear her son confess the _entire_ truth about the situation? No. There was no way Narcissa Malfoy could possibly be ready to hear her son tell her he’s gay. There’s no way.

He swallowed uncomfortably. But _could_ he tell her? Could he get it out in the open between them? Would she truly understand? Would she accept him?

He realized he didn’t want to lose her either.

“What is it that you’re expecting me to tell you?”

She considered him for a moment. “That you don’t want to get married. Or, at least, that you don’t want to get married right away. That you’re surviving the horror of the war and in no state to be a father right now.”

“Well, you’re right about that.”

They separated when the waiter brought them their tea and Draco’s fingers twisted around the handle. “Mother, I…”

She waited patiently. Her gaze wasn’t judgmental or accusatory – just open. She loved him unconditionally but would that change when she found out? Would she even believe it? Would she pressure him to still marry a woman and have children while maintaining affairs on the side? That _was_ the pure-blood way, after all.

Draco looked down as he struggled with himself. _How do you come out to the one person who always wanted something different from you?_

She reached across the table once more and cupped his cheek, bringing his gaze to meet hers. She was frowning. “There’s something more that you aren’t telling me. But I don’t want to push. I just want you to know that I love you and am here for you, no matter what you need.”

He rested his hand over hers on his cheek. “I love you too, Mother.”

Smiling, she let go of him to take a sip of the tea. “I also came to ask you about your holiday plans. I was thinking we could spend Christmas Eve with your father for a bit and then go and start rebuilding the Manor. It will take some time and a lot of work but it needs to be repaired. I will not have the bank taking it away from me. What do you think?”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he sipped at his tea and didn’t look at her, mulling it over.

“I understand if it’s too much to ask of you right now. But I want to spend at least Christmas Eve with you and Lucius. Merlin only knows how much longer I’ll have with my boys all together.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at that famous mother’s guilt, he sighed and said, “That sounds fine to me. I agree that the Manor must be restored quickly.”

She smiled at him, clearly happy with his answer. “Thank you, Draco.” She paused. “I know it isn’t easy for you to see him like this but maybe it’ll be easier now that you know you don’t have to end up like him.”

The words were harsh against his father but Draco didn’t defend him. Instead, he placed his teacup back down on the table and looked into its dark contents. “I’ve been happy staying at Grimmauld Place. Once the Manor is restored, I would like to be able to travel freely between the townhouse and the Manor.”

“Hopefully your presence will help turn that debacle into something of its former glory,” was all his mother said on the matter. She didn’t remark on him wanting to spend more time with Potter.

Feeling the need to say something further about it, Draco mentioned, “Mother…if I do not marry a woman then the likelihood of producing a biological heir is nonexistent.” It wasn’t the whole truth but it was something.

“You could always adopt.”

The simple way she said it shocked him and he very nearly spilled his tea. Adoption was not the pure-blood way. Being _gay_ was not the pure-blood way. But as he steadied his teacup and examined her, he realized that, for the first time, his mother didn’t give a damn about the pure-blood way.

“Darling, I love you. I can’t afford to lose you over a future I want for you.”

“Thank you,” he whispered to her, too full of emotion to properly get across the extent of his feelings. She truly _was_ giving him a way out of a life of misery.

She was letting her son be free from tradition.

She was putting her son’s happiness first.

“You’re my world, Draco. I’d do anything for you.”

This was the same woman that had lied to Voldemort’s face to protect his life. “I know, Mother…I know.”

**XXXX**

Harry was pacing.

He didn’t want to _admit_ that he was pacing but he was. It was nearly midnight and Malfoy still wasn’t home. Should he go and look for him? Had the blond simply gotten distracted by work? What if something had happened? Surely the Ministry would have told him. Although it had taken a mighty long time the last time something had happened for him to find out – and even then it had been because of his friends, not the Ministry informing him. Harry glanced at the clock. 11:57. Surely Malfoy would be strolling in any time now.

“Master is fine,” Seelba reassured him from his spot on the bottom step of the staircase beside Kreacher. The house-elves had sensed Harry’s uneasiness and lingered on the stairs, watching him pace. It was a miracle Kreacher hadn’t conjured up a bowl of popcorn.

Harry looked at the clock. 11:58.

How did Seelba know if Malfoy was all right? Should he send Hootia? Should he send a Patronus? No. He was overreacting and worrying for nothing. Malfoy would show up any minute. It had only been the blond’s first day back at work after nearly getting blown up the last time he stepped into the building. What was there to worry about?

11:59.

The front door creaked open and Harry resisted the urge to run to it as Malfoy entered the townhouse. Apparently it had started snowing again because flakes coated his robes and hair. The blond stomped his feet on the floor to shake off some of the excess snow before he started to take off his winter wear.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Malfoy said, even though he knew fully well that Harry never went to sleep before one in the morning. “My mother was waiting for me after work and I spent some time with her to reassure her that I’m not dead or having a midlife crisis.”

“Thank goodness for that or I’d probably see a Harley parked out front every day,” Harry replied, relief overwhelming his slight frustration that the blond hadn’t told him he would be late coming home. _It’s not like we’re in a relationship – not like I had any reason to wait for him and worry over him other than the fact that I was bored. He didn’t_ need _to tell me where he was. I overreacted._

Malfoy looked up at him in confusion from where he was doubled over, undoing the laces of his boots. “What’s a Harley?”

“A Muggle brand of motorcycle.”

That darn eyebrow rose but Malfoy didn’t ask any further questions.

“How’s your mother doing?”

Malfoy took off his winter robe and handed the article of clothing to Seelba along with his boots. “She’s well enough, I suppose. I was able to further explain myself and she seemed willing to understand. She said that she loves me and wants me to be happy above anything else.”

“What – really? That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, it was pretty surprising.” He had finally gotten all of his winter clothing off and shirked his Ministry robe before invading Harry’s personal space wearing just a button-up shirt and a pair of slacks. “How was your day?”

“Productive. I got my holiday shopping done,” Harry replied, falling in step beside the blond as they made their way to the drawing room. “Kreacher’s going to wrap the presents for me tomorrow since I do a shoddy job of it.”

“I still have to do my shopping. Hank was giving me flack for it at work.”

“How are they all doing? How are _you_ doing?”

They settled in on the couch together as one of the Malfoy family house-elves – Tristy? Tracy? – brought them hot chocolate in steaming mugs. They fell into an easy quiet as they sipped at their drinks, Harry waiting for Malfoy to elaborate about his day.

“It wasn’t as scary going back as I thought it would be,” Malfoy confessed after a few moments. “They expanded my office so now I share it with Hank which is actually kind of nice. I guess, this way, if someone tries to blow me up again I have someone immediately beside me to help out.”

“Was he happy to see you?”

“Oh yeah – they all were.” Malfoy gave a tiny but genuine smile at the memory and it relaxed Harry. “Granger and Shacklebolt both greeted me when I got there but Shacklebolt hid in the lift. Didn’t want the press capturing him for more publicity, he said. I think he just wanted it to be more private.”

“I planned on swinging by Hermione’s place tomorrow,” Harry said. “Was she nice?”

“Extremely. Put on the best business-like front I’ve ever seen. While I still think her decision to follow through with becoming Minister is a stupid one, I think she’ll be able to charm her way through any Wizengamot trial without dropping a sweat.”

Harry grinned. That sounded like the Hermione he knew.

“I’m glad I went back,” Malfoy continued quietly. He paused to take a sip of his drink. “I needed it.”

“I know,” Harry whispered. And he did.

**XXXX**

As the days trickled by, they fell into an easy rhythm. Malfoy would work long shifts and then come home to watch television with Harry or just sit on the couch beside him before going up to bed. Harry felt that with every moment he spent with Malfoy, he was getting to know the blond a lot better than he ever had during their shared time at Hogwarts. Malfoy liked his tea caffeinated, his water chilled by ice cubes, and his lunches light. He showered once before work and used cleansing charms to keep his appearance sharp throughout the long day. He didn’t put up a struggle when Megan came to check on him. He preferred his shirts folded sleeves-first rather than in half first and never wore the same pair of pants more than once in the same week. His green toothbrush sat next to Harry’s in their shared bathroom and he used Muggle body wash. His eyes crinkled around the corners when he yawned or laughed. He preferred to sleep on his side – especially when he had something (or someone) to hold. He made snide comments about Harry’s friends but genuinely didn’t want to see any harm come to them (especially Luna). He was more social than Harry had initially believed him to be – often telling Harry stories about his coworkers and their crazy conversations over a mug of cocoa or tea. Harry found out more about the people Malfoy worked with as a result and grew to learn that they genuinely _were_ good people. It was reassuring to know that Malfoy had people he could turn to at work when things got bad.

All in all, as he spent more time learning about Malfoy, Harry realized that it was getting harder and harder to fight certain… _urges_ he had towards the blond. _I want to kiss him_ , he’d think to himself each time Malfoy came home and greeted him. _I want to pull him close to me_ , he’d think while sitting comfortably beside the blond on the couch. _What would he taste like?_ He’d wonder to himself as he thought about how easy it would be to sink between the blond’s legs in front of the couch. Harry had never sucked dick before – had never even made it past second base – but oh, did Malfoy make him want to try. Those grey eyes, easy smiles, and strong arms were _begging_ Harry to make a move. More than once he found himself fingering the secret gift for Malfoy hidden away in his room. He wondered if the blond would like it. He wondered if it would be a good reason to profess his feelings. He wondered if Malfoy would let him blow him.

His thoughts got so lewd over the days leading up to Christmas that one night Harry found himself slipping on his gift for Malfoy and running his hand up and down his chest to try and imitate how it might feel to have Malfoy touch him with the ring on. Harry felt himself getting hard at the thought and quickly shirked his trousers. Malfoy had gone to bed hours ago and surely wouldn’t be able to hear Harry from down the hall. Wrapping his free hand around his cock, Harry began stroking it lightly as he rolled his nipple between his fingers, feeling the cool metal press against the bud. The komodo dragon ring looked just as beautiful on as it had in its box. He moaned at the thought of Malfoy pinning his hand against the bed, metal pressing between his fingers, while the blond sucked at his neck and chest, wanting to bring Harry to completion but not wanting to rush exploration of the hero’s body. Harry writhed on the bed, wishing that he had Malfoy’s strong body to keep him in place as his hand started moving faster around his cock. He had started having more and more wet dreams about the blond and had started imagining new ways that Malfoy might fuck him or want to be fucked _by_ him. Ron and George certainly talked about sex enough for Harry to have ideas about how it would happen and he _knew_ he wanted Malfoy. Jerking himself off, he thought of those beautiful grey eyes and felt himself getting close. He knew he would love it if Malfoy was a vocal lover and imagined the pure-blood whispering dirty things in his ear – _‘So pretty for me, Harry, all spread out and desperate. So needy for me. Want to suck me, yeah? Want to feel my thick cock fill up that pretty mouth?’_ – Harry shivered as he felt his orgasm build. He wanted to know what Malfoy looked like in bed, covered in sweat, pupils dilated, breathing ragged as he fucked Harry however he wished.

“Malfoy,” he begged out loud, wishing that the pure-blood in his mind was in bed with him.

_‘Is that what the Chosen One wants? To be stuffed full of me?’_

Harry whimpered as he pinched the skin down his body.

_‘So lovely. I’d like to fill that noisy mouth with my seed.’_

“Malfoy –”

_‘That’s it, Harry. Give it to me.’_

Harry bit down hard on his pillow to keep his cries muffled as he spilled into his hand and onto the bed sheets. As he slowly came down from the mind-blowing orgasm, he looked down the length of his naked body and saw that his gift for Malfoy had gotten covered in jizz.

Briefly, Harry thought about leaving the jewelry dirtied as he came down from the high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was mostly Draco-centric, that's just how they are sometimes. Reminder that the next chapter is completely finished and will be uploaded tomorrow or the day after to make up for the extremely long wait I had you guys suffer through. Please, please review - after being sick for so long, I feel like even the simplest reviews help make writing all the more worth it. Originally, this chapter was over 10,000 words but I've decided to break it up into multiple chapters to help pacing seem better. So no worries about me ending this fic any time soon - I'm in it for the long haul and I really am loving writing this story. Thank you for reading so far!!


	17. Last Minute Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets some holiday shopping in and runs into Blaise.   
> Harry and the house-elves have a sweet spot for decorating around the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU READ THE CHAPTER BEFORE THIS ONE FIRST!!!! I know it's not typical for me to post more than one chapter in the same weekend but I felt bad about making you guys wait so long for the last chapter because I was sick so I figured I would upload both parts within the same weekend to make up for it. Please make sure you've read the last chapter before this one!! 
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone that left sweet reviews on the last chapter and this fic overall. It really helps me post more chapters when I get positive feedback.

As the week came to a close and Christmas lingered right around the corner, Harry distracted himself from endless thoughts about Malfoy by visiting the Weasleys.

“You really should see her, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley told him gently one afternoon after he had regaled the story of McGonagall’s Howler. “I know she would love to see you. And she’s not the only one.”

By her pointed look, he knew exactly who she was referring to but he wasn’t ready for that particular face-to-face conversation yet. The mailed copy of _A History of Hippogriffs: Feathery Beasts_ that he had bought and sent out would have to do for now. He couldn’t go back and visit the castle. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. He wanted to have a steady job and be successful and – and –

Mrs. Weasley put a hand on each of his shoulders and stared him in the eye. “You listen to me, Harry James Potter. You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself to go back there. The only thing you’ve ‘gotta focus on are the people that would love to see you as you are.”

“But I’m not as strong as I was.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “In my eyes, you will _always_ be the strongest wizard of any era. Harry…you didn’t have a normal childhood. You can’t be expected to do things the same as everybody else. What happened at the castle and not having a job do _not_ make you a failure.”

He couldn’t agree. All of his other friends had moved on by now and found successful careers.

“The only thing holding you back from visiting is _you_ , dear.”

Harry didn’t meet her eyes. He knew she was right. But he still couldn’t bring himself to agree to go and visit Hogwarts. He still had some work to do on himself first.

**XXXX**

It was almost like Potter was ignoring him. For three straight days, Draco came home from work to find Grimmauld Place empty except for the house-elves. _‘Sir Potter is out with the Weasleys,’_ Seelba informed him each day. On the third evening without Potter, Draco was half-tempted to leave a note on the Chosen One’s door just to check and make sure he was all right.

_Ridiculous. He’s allowed to have his space._

But Draco couldn’t help but admit that he had grown fond of their shared time together after he came home from work. Why was Potter ignoring him? They still had to discuss holiday plans – Draco wasn’t sure what the Chosen One had in mind but he wanted to find out. He _needed_ to find out. His Christmas Day plans relied on whatever course of action Potter was planning on taking.

On the fourth day, Draco was relieved to find Potter waiting for him on the couch in the drawing room when he came home from work.

“Not out with the Weasles?” Draco couldn’t help but snark as he shirked his winter clothes.

Potter had the gall to look sheepish. “Uh, no, not today. I wanted to ask you what you were doing for Christmas.”

Draco cracked his neck as he moseyed into the drawing room, taking his customary spot on the couch beside Potter. He examined the Chosen One from the corner of his eye and was surprised to find that Potter looked…nervous.

_Well…that’s new._

“I’m not entirely sure yet. I know I’m spending Christmas Eve with my parents.”

“At the hospital?”

Draco nodded. “For a bit. Then Mother and I are going to start restoring the Manor.”

“Oh.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you look so down? I didn’t say I was moving out.”

Potter looked up quickly, relief flashing in his eyes before he could maintain a steady gaze of neutrality. “Right, right…”

“Potter…?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s on your mind?”

The Chosen One looked away from him with a frown. “Are you sure you’re okay with going back to the hospital?”

Draco’s heart fluttered in his chest at Potter’s concern. “I’ll be fine. Mother and I won’t be staying long and it will be good to start restoring the Manor.”

“Do you want help with anything?”

“Not particularly. This is more of a Malfoy family thing.”

Potter nodded, still not looking at him.

Draco wondered why the Boy Wonder wasn’t pushing the hospital issue more. Potter had raised hell the last time and insisted on going with him. Why was he so lax this time? He wondered whether or not he should push Potter on it but realized that, no, this _was_ a Malfoy family thing. He could handle the trip alone. He wasn’t worried about that – not really. But Potter’s silence was disconcerting. “What about you? Holiday plans?”

Potter fidgeted on the couch. “Molly’s insisted that I spend Christmas Eve with them like I usually do every year. She wants me to go and visit the castle sometime soon, too, but…I’m not ready for that. I don’t know. I don’t really feel like spending Christmas Day with any of them. Is that selfish?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t think so. Christmas Day should be spent with whoever you want however you want. I know the Greengrass family is taking Mother on a day cruise around the Isles. She’s always loved that sort of thing. They invited me but I have no interest in spending the day with them.”

“So what are you going to do instead?”

_This is it. Time to seal the deal._ “Well…if I have no plans and you have no plans, would you like to have no plans together?”

Potter blinked. Then blushed. “You – you’d want to spend Christmas with me?” There was a positively hopeful tone in his voice that made Draco smile.

“Of course. We are flatmates, after all. We spend every other day together – why should Christmas be any different?”

Potter turned away but not before Draco caught sight of a beautiful smile on his face. Breathing his own little sigh of relief at how easy that was, Draco stood up with a sense of finality. “Perfect. I’ll inform Seelba and the others – I’m sure they’ll want to prepare something of a grand feast for us on Christmas. Little devils always did love the holidays.”

Potter was still smiling as Draco called for Seelba.

**XXXX**

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and Draco _still_ hadn’t done any holiday shopping. Well, to be more specific, he hadn’t done any shopping for _Potter_. He had already ordered a beautiful necklace and a set of gloves for his mother that he knew she had wanted for months now, a fancy cardigan for Lovegood that had _tassels_ , a bottle of chardonnay for Zabini, a box of chocolates for Goyle (if he even opened the box), posters for Hank and David, a record collection for Quina, and some treats for his house-elves, but he was rather stumped when it came to finding something special for the Chosen One. Draco had never bought a gift for a romantic interest before – never bought anything for someone like _Potter_ before.

The stores in Diagon Alley had been _decimated_ by shoppers. Barely anything was left in the display cases to tempt Draco. It was something of a wonder that shops were even open to begin with. Glamoured, Draco bit his lip as he tried not to panic. It wasn’t that big of a deal. He could find something for Potter in a short amount of time. It wasn’t that bad. Potter wasn’t _that_ important.

_Who am I kidding?_ Draco thought as he trekked through the snow. _I can’t just give the bloke I’m in love with something trite. No, it_ has _to be big. Something meaningful. Something_ Potter _._

He realized he had been staring at a wizard’s cookbook for far too long and was just about to turn around and try a different shop when a voice muttered beside him, “Let me guess – you can’t find something for your dearest?”

Warily, he turned to find Blaise Zabini, un-Glamoured and wearing a knitted beanie, standing behind him.

“What rock did you crawl out from under?”

Blaise smirked and rocked back on his heels. “I saw you a few minutes ago and figured I should swing by to say hi. So…hi. Poor Glamour, by the way. All that time with Potter must be making you sloppy.”

Ignoring the snide comment, Draco asked, “Are you doing last minute shopping as well?”

Blaise turned his attention to another book on the display, pretending to be interested in it, and didn’t answer Draco right away. He had forgone the robes of a Hogwarts professor in favor of a simple, black winter cloak with dark red fur lining the edges. His knee-high boots were dragonhide – of course – and looked quite dashing on him, hugging his calves something fierce. “Of a sort. I’m shopping for something that a house-elf can’t get.”

“Oh? Something for a lover, perhaps?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “My house-elves are accustomed to buying lingerie for my partners at all hours of the day and night. But if you must know, this is something of a more…personal nature.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. “More personal than lingerie? My god – has the great Blaise Zabini found someone worth being monogamous with?”

Blaise flicked him on the shoulder and moved deeper into the store, forcing Draco to follow him. “It’s not like that – we’re not _together_ in a romantic sense…or a physical sense…or any sense, really. He’s not even my type. And, anyway, even if I _were_ to find someone worthy enough to date me long-term, do you really think I would stop being polyamorous? Nothing wrong with sharing my affections for multiple partners who are willing and interested.”

Draco leaned against a shelf, intrigued. “If he’s not interested in you then why buy him a gift? Who is this fellow, anyway?”

“Why are you looking for something for Potter? I bet you two haven’t shagged yet or I would’ve heard about it.”

Not liking how the topic of conversation had turned against him, Draco asked stubbornly, “Who says I’m shopping for Potter?”

“Aren’t you?”

“…No…”

Blaise smirked and said, “You’re too predictable.”

Frowning, Draco huffed, “Fine but I’m hoping that whatever I get him will help display my affection in a way that words can’t. I want this gift to lead up to something big.”

“Like you shagging him.”

Draco shrugged.

“Why not just buy him lingerie then? You said it yourself that that’s a personal enough gift to get your point across.”

Draco pushed off of the shelf and the two of them wandered around the store for a bit longer before giving up and walking outside. “I don’t want to come across as…crass,” Draco admitted. “I want it to be tasteful. Meaningful.”

“Lingerie can be both of those things.”

“While the idea of Potter in silk panties is a fascinating one, I don’t think that’s something I should lead with when confessing how I fancy him.”

“Hmm,” Blaise muttered, “no, perhaps not. But it does present a fascinating image, as you say.”

The two pure-bloods wound up shopping together in relative silence, perusing stores and growing more and more frustrated at not being able to find something for the men in their minds. Eventually, they decided to take a break to rest their spirits and grab some food.

“Leaky?” Draco suggested.

“I’d rather not,” Blaise said quickly. “There’s a café that opened up a few weeks ago across from the joke shop. Shall we?”

The café was smaller than the Leaky Cauldron but brighter with purple walls and green tables. They ordered some coffees and sandwiches and sat down at a table far away from the door. It wasn’t very crowded – and why should it be? Everyone responsible had finished their shopping weeks or months ago and were probably resting happily at home.

“So this mysterious bloke of yours…” Draco began, taking a sip of his coffee. “You said he’s not your type?”

“Not at all,” Blaise replied, looking out the café’s window. “I prefer men who are confident and powerful and experienced and rich. He’s…not much of any of that. But he’s not a simple romp in the hay, either. But he seems completely uninterested in me sexually which I simply cannot fathom. I’ve received more letters from _students_ hoping I’m blessed with multitudes of mistletoe this holiday season than I’ve received looks of longing from him. It’s entirely frustrating. I don’t believe he’s straight but even if he was, we’ve seen in the past that that matters very little when it comes to having a mouth on your cock.”

Draco nodded, remembering a time when he accidentally walked in on Goyle and Zabini. “Not for nothing, but have you considered the possibility that not everyone is obsessed with your rugged good looks?”

“That’s the thing though. He doesn’t seem interested but he also doesn’t seem… _not_ interested? Few weeks ago we shared a pint and there was a moment – a brief one, but a real one nonetheless – where he smiled at me in a way that nobody else has in a really long time. Like the whole world centered around us and nothing else mattered. It was…cute. And weird. And intriguing.”

“What if you’re just reading a bit too into it?”

“He’s interesting to be around,” Blaise shrugged, blowing off the question in favor of picking at his sandwich rather than eating it. “Lights up whatever space he inhabits. I don’t know…he’s interesting now. Never used to be like this. I can’t tell whether he’s interesting because I can’t get a solid read on him or if he’s interesting because he’s not interested in _me_ openly.”

The way Blaise phrased it made Draco feel like the person in question was someone he knew. “‘Never used to be like this?’ So you’re saying you’ve known him for a while?”

Blaise didn’t respond.

“Could it be a colleague, perhaps? Someone from Hogwarts?”

Blaise bit into his sandwich and didn’t reply.

“Someone from the war?”

The dark-haired pure-blood looked across the table and met Draco’s eyes. “Still the slut for juicy gossip you always were, huh?”

The blond smirked.

**XXXX**

After they finished eating and discussing less private accords, Draco stopped off at Magical Menagerie to buy some treats for Hootia and Aquila before following Blaise into a jewelry shop.

“Seems a bit too forward, doesn’t it?” he asked, following Blaise blindly up and down the rows. “I mean you don’t even know if this fellow is into you.”

“Doesn’t hurt to look,” Blaise defended. That was a terrible excuse if Draco ever heard one. Everyone knew that Blaise Zabini had the largest soft spot for shiny, expensive things. He shook his head and was about to suggest that they go check out the Quidditch shop when his eyes landed on something. A black cord rested in a box a few shelves down from the top. On the cord were two silver beads with spiral patterns etched into them. Looking closer, he realized the spiral patterns reminded him of snakes. In between the beads rested a small ruby encased in silver.

_“But I have a burn mark from one of the Horcruxes on my chest that sometimes itches. It’s more of an annoyance than anything else, though,” Potter had told him._ The memory played itself through his mind over and over as he gingerly picked up the box and stared at the necklace. There was something…almost _familiar_ about it. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. As he stared at the ruby, slowly an image came into view in the center of the stone. It swirled and wavered into existence before disappearing altogether. Blinking, Draco watched but the image didn’t come back. He wondered if he had imagined it.

“What’s up?” Blaise asked, realizing Draco had been quiet for too long.

Softly, Draco cast a detection spell over the necklace but there was no Dark Magic infused in it. Whatever was up with the necklace wasn’t evil. “I thought I saw…” he shook his head. “It’s nothing. Isn’t ruby the birthstone of July?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Blaise replied, peering over his shoulder at the necklace. “I thought you said getting jewelry was a bit too forward?”

Draco didn’t have to turn around to see the pure-blood’s smirk. Ignoring his friend, he said, “I can enchant it to cool the skin when it itches him.”

“What?”

“Nothing – I think I’ve found Potter’s gift.”

“I don’t remember him being the jewelry type of guy, though.”

“He might not be but…I don’t know. There’s something about this necklace that reminds me of him.”

“Next you’ll be buying him those silk panties for New Years. Don’t give me that look – I have psychic blood in me.”

**XXXX**

When Draco returned to Grimmauld Place, the first thing he noticed was a brilliant wreath on the front door. It was huge! Carefully he moved inside the townhouse to find strings of rainbow and white lights decorating the walls. They moved in and out of every room and traveled up the staircase at the end of the hall to disappear onto the floors above. As he traveled down the hall, he was shocked to find a magnificent tree standing in the drawing room, taking up most of the space. It was heavily decorated with lights, white and green garland, a blue strand of stars, and covered in kitschy ornaments. Upon closer examination, he discovered that the tackiest ornaments had been made by Lovegood over the years. White cutouts of paper snowflakes stuck to the walls of the drawing room and stockings for all the house-elves, the two owls, Potter, and even Draco himself hung above the fireplace across from the tree.

“What’s all this, then?” Draco asked quietly. With the Manor being burned and previously expecting Potter to spend Christmas elsewhere, he hadn’t expected Grimmauld Place to be so stylishly decorated for the holiday.

Kreacher appeared beside him. “Kreacher always decorates the house for Christmas but Kreacher had extra hands this year with help from the other elves. Seelba said Sirs Malfoy and Potter would both be spending Christmas Day here, so Kreacher thought it would be nice to decorate a bit more than normal since the townhouse will now have guests for Christmas.” The house-elf crossed his arms and looked away from Draco, trying to appear disinterested. “Does Sir Malfoy like it?”

“I do, Kreacher…” Draco said, letting his eyes fall on the cute stocking with his name sewn on in green string. He was surprised and startlingly touched by how far the house-elves had gone to make him feel at home here for the holiday. He hadn’t expected it. “I really do.”

Kreacher _tsked_ but Draco could tell that he was pleased.

**XXXX**

Before he stashed Potter’s gift away where the Chosen One could never find it, Draco opened the box and stared at the necklace. He waited for a few moments but the image he thought he saw in the shop didn’t materialize. Letting out a puff of annoyance, he muttered to the necklace, “Fine, keep your secrets,” before stashing it away in his dresser. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and both he and Potter would be spending the entire day with their respective families, each probably getting home very late at night. Draco knew that he wanted to enjoy this meal with Potter before he went the next day without seeing him. Wary as he was to admit it, he was terribly nervous about the upcoming Christmas Day and wasn’t sure how Potter would react to his gift.

_I hope he’ll like it. I really want him to like it._

As soon as he entered the kitchen and found Potter stirring away at whatever concoction was designed for their bellies, his stomach filled with butterflies. His fingers twitched with want. Potter was right _there_ and looking so delicious in skinny jeans and a tight-fitting sweater. It would be so easy to take the last few steps, spin the boy around, and kiss him after a long day of shopping.

But Christmas Day was two days away and Draco had to wait.

“How was shopping? Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Draco nodded but then realized that Potter wasn’t looking at him and couldn’t see his affirmation. “Yes, I did,” he said out loud. “And I ran into Blaise as well.”

“Zabini? I thought he’d have sent his house-elves out for the holiday shopping.”

_What is it with people?_

“Well that’s what I thought too but apparently some shopping should be done personally.”

Potter turned to glance at him with a tilted brow. “Does that mean Zabini’s interested in someone?”

“Zabini’s almost always interested in someone but it’s hard to see that if you’re not close with him. He comes across as an arrogant git – which he is – but he’s something of a hopeless romantic deep down. Were you a bit more open to quick shags, I’m sure he would’ve gotten his claws into you years ago for a quick tussle in the hay.”

Potter turned around quickly, presumably to hide a blush. “What makes you think I’m not?”

Draco blinked. He looked at the back of Potter’s head. He kept his voice desperately steady as he asked, “Are you?”

“…No, but you shouldn’t assume.”

Draco chuckled in relief – so Potter _wasn’t_ hoping to have a one-night-only fling with him…or anyone. Clearing his throat, he decided to change the subject and alleviate the sudden awkwardness that had filled the kitchen. “The place looks beautiful, by the way. Love the tree and all of Lovegood’s ornaments.”

Potter laughed as he plated their food and handed Draco a dish. “They’re fucking terrifying, aren’t they?”

“I thought the one of the decapitated donkey was extremely captivating.”

“For all that Luna bothers him, Kreacher loves hanging her weird ornaments up during the holidays. He finds them wonderfully creepy, I think. She thinks they’re beautiful, though. But they give Ginny and me nightmares.”

Draco smiled. “They added a stocking with my name on it.”

“Oh, the house-elves didn’t do that part.”

Slowly, Draco looked up and met Potter’s eyes. The Chosen One was definitely blushing as he said, “I made that.”

“Really?”

Potter nodded. “Yeah. Never really had a stocking of my own that felt special before going to Hogwarts so I try and make a new one every year now. Figured with you and the house-elves and Aquila around, I should make some more.”

Draco swallowed. He was touched. He didn’t know Potter could sew, let alone make something so…so…

_Wonderful_.

Clearing his throat again, Draco said, “Well…thank you. I – it’s nice. Really makes me feel like…”

Potter tilted his head. “Like…?”

Draco looked down at his food but he was still smiling. “Like…I’m home.”

**XXXX**

Harry opened his mouth, the confession ready to spill from his lips, but he managed to wrestle down the words at the last minute. Now wasn’t the time to be saying that. He wanted to wait. _Needed_ to wait. But he couldn’t help the way his heartbeat sped up at Malfoy’s adorable words. Silently, he followed Malfoy up the stairs to their usual spot on the couch in front of the television to watch some news while they ate. His mind was still reeling over Malfoy’s cute comment so he almost missed it when the blond asked, “Hey…you said that Blaise and Longbottom had been spending more time together, right?”

Finishing off his plate, Harry replied, “Yeah, that’s what Neville said. They share a pint sometimes at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Is Longbottom straight?”

Harry blinked and side-eyed Malfoy. “Why are you asking?”

“Merlin, I’m not asking because _I_ want to know – it’s not like that! Fuck, Potter, have you gone daft?”

Harry blushed as he stubbornly looked away from Malfoy. “I _know_ you’re not interested in him – I was just surprised by the question.”

“Why? Don’t you ever ask your friends if people you both mutually know are straight?”

“Only if I’m interested in them.”

“Well, _I’m_ not interested in Longbottom. The very thought is disgusting and sobers me up better than any potion ever could. I was just asking.”

“On behalf of Blaise?” Harry guessed.

Malfoy shrugged. “He mentioned today that he was shopping for someone special and implied that it was someone we both know but said that the man isn’t romantically or sexually interested in him so I guess I was just trying to figure out whether or not it could be Longbottom.”

“I very much doubt it since Neville’s engaged,” Harry said slowly, giving Malfoy a curious look. “I’ve never known him to date a dude or be interested in blokes before. But that doesn’t mean he’s not. But regardless – he’s _engaged_.”

“Right, right.” A beat of silence. “Only…that doesn’t always mean anything in the pure-blood world. _I_ would’ve married a woman I have zero sexual desire for just to maintain tradition.”

“Neville’s not like that. He doesn’t give a shite about tradition and following pure-blood ways. If he’s marrying Hannah, he’s doing so because he’s in love with her – which he very much seems to be.”

“Right. I was just curious. It’s odd to know that Blaise is interested in someone that seems unobtainable but he wouldn’t reveal the man’s identity. There’s got to be more to it that he isn’t telling me.”

“Why are you so interested in this?”

“Because if it was just a casual friend then Blaise wouldn’t keep it a secret from me. But the fact that he didn’t tell me the man’s identity means that there’s more to the story than meets the eye.”

“You did always have a soft spot for gossip.”

“Well…it was hard not to pay attention when most of the gossip in school was about you.”

Harry found himself wondering how often Malfoy had thought about him during their shared years at Hogwarts and how many of those times Malfoy had thought about him in a sweet light rather than something dark and sinister. He glanced at Malfoy, ready to ask, but those grey eyes looked so happy and full of life. It made him pause. Now was not the time to bring up the past. Now was the time to just enjoy having a moment alone with Malfoy before they went their separate ways tomorrow.

“Promise you’ll call if you need anything,” Harry whispered. “I’ll be there in an instant.”

Malfoy smiled at him. “It’s sweet of you to care but now that I’ve gotten my head around my father’s situation, I think it will be easier to see him than the last time. I have my mother’s support behind me and Megan agreed to speak with Dr. Anders and my father’s doctors to try and figure out something new to try to help him. I don’t foresee having another breakdown like last time.” He reached out and rested his hand over Harry’s. The contact sent sparks through him and Harry realized it was the first time they had touched in _days_. It felt good – _too_ good. He wanted more. As he was about to open his mouth, Malfoy continued, “But I promise I’ll call if I need you.”

Harry paused. Then nodded in thanks. Now wasn’t the time to try and seduce Malfoy. It was way more important that the blond knew he was there for him than how badly Harry wanted to suck him off.

That would come later on Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will focus on Christmas Eve and probably Christmas Day and will have...feeeeeelings. Touchy feelings. As I'm sure you've all guessed by the fact that this story has gone up in rating from M to E.


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